


Wreck of the Day

by feralphoenix



Category: Tales of Legendia, Yggdra Union
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Arranged Marriage, Bisexuality, Crossover, Depression, F/M, Loss, M/M, Moving On, Sexual Content, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-27
Updated: 2011-06-27
Packaged: 2017-10-20 19:15:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/216216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feralphoenix/pseuds/feralphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't like she could begrudge Senel his fairy-tale ending, but where did that leave her? She was a mess, about to marry a man she didn't know to fulfill her duty. Fortunately, he was a mess too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Placid Waters

**Author's Note:**

> _(at last;_ there’s a light at each end of this tunnel)

It had to be done, and there was nothing else for it.

That was likely the new mantra of almost everyone on the Silver Teriques. There were a lot of people, after all, who weren’t really satisfied with the situation; it was better than mixing their blood with true Orerines but not by much. But the Ferines needed this alliance so badly—without support, they would so easily be used or buried in the mounting tensions between Rexalia and Crusand. And this strange new empire from halfway across the world was strong—though they needed allies just as badly. There was so much uncertainty between the two nations that they _had_ to have this proof of their union. There wasn’t a choice.

Even the sea seemed to be supportive—the deep blue-green waters beneath the ship were unusually calm, and the waves rocked and cradled it gently. The sunset had been deep pink and scarlet, promising a beautiful day; there wasn’t even the hint of a storm on the horizon even now.

People murmured their misgivings as the last hour ticked down; everyone knew that no one could or would protest. The treaty had been set in stone for months now, with the Imperial court and the Elder’s council behind it. And this part of it was very, very clear.

In the maiden’s chambers she would probably never see again, Shirley Fennes stood listlessly and let herself be dressed like a doll. She had never protested her part in the alliance, and why should she? She didn’t care about much anymore. Her life was already over—it had ended months before, and all hope in her for a good future filled with love had died then and there.

At least she would have Walter and Fenimore, wherever she went now. As the Merines, she was entitled to at least one bodyguard and one personal attendant even in foreign company. No matter how good or bad things were, she knew that they would look after her.

Walter was standing outside the door even now while Fenimore fussed with the intricate trappings of Shirley’s dress. Stella had wanted to be the one to do this; when she’d heard about it, the old Shirley had sprung into sudden and painful life and she’d pleaded and begged for Fenimore instead. There hadn’t been any reason for the council to refuse, so Fenimore was here. Shirley was—grateful, relieved, she supposed. She didn’t want to be around Stella anymore if she could help it.

“I hear the Orerines usually go with white for times like these,” Fenimore was saying as she cinched Shirley’s sash tightly around her waist. “It sounds silly to me, and I’m glad we don’t have to follow their standards. White would look awful on you right now; blue is much better.”

Shirley didn’t answer. If she weren’t so miserable, she supposed she might have agreed that the soft powder blues of the gauzy dress suited her. But the way things were, she felt it was a little shallow to worry about things like that. She didn’t blame Fenimore, though—she knew her friend was making small talk to distract her from things neither of them really wanted to consider… like tonight.

“Hey, Shirley…” Fenimore’s hands paused and rested at the small of her back. “Really, don’t worry about it. I mean… it could be worse, right? He could be some kind of total barbarian; we know there are people like that in the Orerines kingdoms. He doesn’t seem to be a bad person, and—and if he is, just tell me about it. Walter and I will beat him up for you!”

Shirley laughed. The sound came out weak and trembly, and she covered her face with both hands as she realized she was starting to cry.

“Shirley, what—hey, stop that!” Kind hands pulled hers away from her face, and Fenimore’s fingers brushed at her cheeks. “You don’t want to go out looking unpresentable, not after all the time I spent convincing your dress to behave! Nobody’s expecting you to be the blushing bride, but you’ll be kicking yourself for months if you don’t have a little composure.”

Still laughing a little, Shirley hugged Fenimore tightly. “I’m just… so glad you’re with me.”

Fenimore held her for a moment, then gently eased her back. “Come on. I’m just about done here, and then it’s time to go.”

Shirley closed her eyes and took deep breaths, holding still just as she was bid.

 

-               -               -

 

Feeling as though she were in some kind of strange dream, Shirley walked slowly forward. Her hand rested on Walter’s forearm, and felt as though it should be shaking although it wasn’t. Fenimore was just behind her, holding the train of her dress off the ship’s deck.

Everyone was gathered on either side of the thin aisle she was supposed to walk. Shirley didn’t look at them. Stella and—Senel—would be there somewhere; she felt as if she would go to pieces if she saw them now.

Instead, she kept her focus ahead of her. She kept her eyes on _him._

He stood taller than most of the crowd, and would have been conspicuous even without his height. Most of the Ferines were fair-haired and –skinned with blue or green eyes, and his hair was the brightest scarlet Shirley had ever seen, his eyes as golden as bottled honey in the sun. He was dressed in formal-looking black silks with a burgundy cloak drawn about his shoulders, his hair twisted into a thick braid in what was probably an attempt to tame it.

A black crown inset with rubies and fire opals rested on his hair, something Shirley had never seen him wear before—not that she had had much interaction with him at all. His expression, though, was more familiar—he looked somber and closed-off, just as he always did.

His name was Gulcasa, and almost two years ago now, he had risen to power as Emperor in the distant country of Bronquia. Although he and his people dwelt on land, they weren’t truly Orerines, nor were they even human; Gulcasa and his court claimed (and the Ferines’ legends confirmed) that his clan were the descendants of dragons. Although he had taken his throne through a coup d’état, his people were fiercely loyal to him, and Bronquia had what the Ferines did not—an armed and trained military that would happily fight for him… and with this, the Ferines as well.

Shirley only knew what she’d been told about him, though. The few times they’d seen each other over the course of diplomatic negotiations, he’d hardly spoken to anyone, allowing his court and his generals to take care of things for him. So when she looked at him now, she just saw a tall foreigner with features a little too harsh for good looks who maintained a moody silence.

How could her people ask this of her? How could _his_ ask it of _him?_ Could they really go through with this in duty’s name?

Shirley supposed she could still back out—run away, or if she wanted to be really dramatic, throw herself over the side of the ship and into the placid salt water that would burn her skin like acid. But what kind of alternative would that be? Walter and Fenimore would stand by her no matter what, but she would only be left with death or the unbearable existence of orbiting Stella and—Senel—in a life that had no room for her.

Anything was better.

So Shirley took her place standing across from him and didn’t move as Walter and Fenimore joined the crowd, as the priest began to speak.

She didn’t listen to his litany; she tried to, but she couldn’t seem to make sense of the words. Instead, she stared through a gap in the crowd across the water, towards the sun that was beginning to set, lighting the sky mauve and magenta. Another clear day tomorrow, then.

She didn’t even start when Gulcasa spoke, his voice soft and rough and very slightly accented, or when he lifted her hand in both of his own, slipping the band of delicate white gold with its faceted sapphire onto her finger.

And then it was her turn. Shirley said her appointed lines without thinking about them at all, her mind dull and blank. She almost fumbled in taking out the ring she had to give him, but didn’t drop it. It was a simple band of thick gold, unadorned but for the faint script of an old Ferines blessing carved over it. Shirley slid it onto his hand, and blinked in confusion. He was already wearing a ring—a thinner gold band, bearing an amethyst framed on either side by a smaller green peridot.

Instead of listening—thinking of what she knew the priest was saying and doing now made her feel dizzy and unwell—Shirley stared at Gulcasa’s other ring while the white silk cord was draped over their hands, binding them together.

But she couldn’t block the words out forever. They rang through the dreamlike fog in her head like the drop of a gavel: “In the name of the spirits of earth and wind, water and flame, in the name of the great light that connects us all, I declare this rite complete. In order to unite our great nations, I now name you husband and wife.”

Shirley began to tremble. She couldn’t stop.

 

-               -               -

 

Once Fenimore had helped her out of the wedding gown and back into her deep blue Merines regalia, Shirley walked in dull stumbling steps towards the new room she had to stay in. The one that wouldn’t be just hers. One little corner of her mind was wheeling about in a panic, demanding that she stop what she was doing and turn around right away. The rest of her was back in the fog of defeated resignation. There was no changing the fact that she could never have the life she’d dreamed of as a child. She was already married to a man almost five years older than her for the sake of her people. What was one more nail in her coffin now? From here on out, it was all duty.

But with every step she took, that corner grew wider and stronger, and Shirley started to feel panicky, sick. The ceremony was, after all, just a ceremony—law and words, even if there could be no Rite of Feriyen for her. One form of binding. But the next loomed over her now, the biggest hurdle she had yet to face, and she knew she wasn’t ready. She would never be ready. She had just barely turned sixteen, and he was twenty, and he might be her husband but she didn’t _know_ him. And she was—she had to admit to herself—terrified.

Shirley’s feet stopped moving once she’d entered the room. All of her things—her trunk of clothing, the little ornaments she’d left on her dresser, the boxes of bridal gifts from her sister and—Senel’s—friends, her beech-wood chest—had been moved here already. Just another little reminder that she couldn’t ever turn back.

She forced herself to take one more step, then another, until she was further inside. The room was bigger than hers and along the hull of the ship, so there was a shuttered window in the wall, next to the bedside table. And the bed itself—

—was, of course, much bigger than hers had been. (She tried not to think of why—it tied too many knots in her stomach.) The sheets were white and the comforter was patchwork blue; it looked soft. On the bed’s other side were a chest of drawers and other things that Shirley didn’t recognize. They were probably Gulcasa’s; it looked as though he’d been forcibly moved in here, too.

As if just thinking about him had been enough to summon him, Shirley heard footsteps behind her and nearly jumped, settling instead for turning quickly. Gulcasa stood in the doorframe, dressed down the same way she was—he’d discarded the crown and cloak and changed into black cotton and denim; his scarlet hair hung loose past his hips. Resting a hand on the door, he looked around appraisingly.

“Good of them to move our things for us, I suppose.” His voice was even and Shirley couldn’t tell if he meant it or he was being sarcastic. Her heart was jumping in her chest and it was suddenly hard to breathe.

When he stepped inside and closed the door, she had to fight not to take a step back, and when he walked towards her, she squeezed her eyes shut. She knew what came next. She promised herself she would do her duty, wouldn’t resist or struggle no matter how frightened she was or how much it hurt. This was going to be a part of her life now.

Still, when the footsteps stopped and she felt his hand on her shoulder, she flinched. She couldn’t help it, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t seem to stop shaking.

“Shirley…”

He said her name very gently, with a little tenderness and a little pain. She managed to open her eyes, and dared a glance up into his; it seemed to her that they held a great sadness.

“I don’t want you to be frightened of me for any reason,” he told her softly.

Shirley couldn’t stop shaking, though she felt guilty for it. She didn’t have to make this difficult for him or for herself. It was her duty—and might be that way for him, as well. But she just couldn’t stop shaking.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said again as she closed her eyes. She heard a shift of fabric, and her chest lurched a little as he pressed a very gentle kiss to her cheek. “You’re not ready. I won’t touch you if you’re not ready, if you’re not willing. The first time two people are together should be… I won’t say perfect, but… something _sacred,_ something willingly given on both sides, a memory they can both look back on and treasure. I would never hurt you by asking this of you before you’re ready. It would be the same as forcing myself on you, really. I don’t want this relationship to be like that.”

Shirley opened her eyes and stared at him, taken completely off-guard, but he was already walking away from her. As she watched, unsure what to think, he opened a trunk on his side of the room, pulling out what looked like a spare sheet and comforter—both red—and then removing one of the bed’s pillows.

“What are…?” she ventured timidly.

Gulcasa shook his head. “We can’t possibly share a bed the way we are now. We hardly know each other—it’s far too intimate. I meant it when I said I don’t want you to be afraid; how could you possibly trust that I told you the truth if we did sleep in the same bed tonight? Don’t worry about it. Get in bed; get your sleep. Tomorrow will likely be longer than today.”

Shirley blinked at him—she couldn’t help but be a little touched, but she was overwhelmed with not knowing what to expect anymore. “But… what about you…?”

He was already giving the comforter a good flap, but he paused in doing so to raise an eyebrow at her. “When a gentleman and a lady who are neither lovers nor family share the same bedchamber,” he said wryly, “the gentleman takes the floor.”

And to Shirley’s amazement and confusion, he spread the comforter across the floorboards, placing the pillow at its top hem and sprawling across it, pulling the sheet over his long body.

“Goodnight, Shirley Fennes.” This he said with that same light touch of wry humor, and afterwards he was silent, as if he’d dropped right off to sleep.

Shirley sat heavily on the side of the bed. Her head was spinning.


	2. Daisy Chains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _(bananas;_ something that’s keeping me from jumping)

Three days later, Shirley still had no idea what to make of her marriage.

She and Gulcasa hadn’t gotten any closer—they still barely interacted. He still slept on the floor every night, and he made a point to make polite, rather empty conversation with her during mealtimes, but he didn’t approach her otherwise and she didn’t know how to approach him. He remained distant not just from her but from everyone; with nothing better to do, Shirley watched him as unobtrusively as she could and learned that it wasn’t just her he looked at as though he were seeing someone else.

She had no idea what to make of him, and Fenimore didn’t either. As soon as she’d been able to slip away to speak to her friend that first morning, she had, and she’d watched Fenimore’s eyes get bigger and bigger until she finished.

“And he—he wasn’t showing any interest in sex at _all?”_ she asked.

Shirley shook her head. “Whether it’s because he’s not interested in me, or because he really doesn’t want it to be empty, I’m not sure, but…”

Fenimore shrugged. “I suppose you should just be happy for now that he isn’t in the mood. I don’t want you to be hurt or unhappy, and I admit that I _was_ a little worried—that seems to be all _some_ men want.”

But although Shirley couldn’t help but be grateful for the reprieve, she didn’t know how much more of this she could stand. She still didn’t have any real relationship with her new husband, and there were too many reasons why they had to develop one.

They would be out here on the Silver Teriques for six months, after all—it was defined in the treaty of alliance as part of the deal. During that time, both their nations had to withdraw from diplomatic functions with other countries, and afterwards their wedded leaders would decide whether to return to the Ferines or to Bronquia. Shirley didn’t think she could handle six months of _this._

And more importantly, at least where Gulcasa was concerned—he didn’t have much blood family left. It had been explained to Shirley a while ago that both Gulcasa’s parents were dead, and that although he had three younger siblings, two of them were adopted. He needed an heir in case anything drastic was to happen to those siblings or to him; it was Shirley’s duty as his wife to provide him with one or more. Though Gulcasa had shown absolutely no inclination towards trying to conceive one, such things wouldn’t wait forever. If Gulcasa intended to postpone the inevitable until he and Shirley were closer, he should be making an active effort to get acquainted with her.

But he wasn’t, and Shirley wasn’t sure how to speed things along.

Left with nothing to do—the ship’s workers, she’d learned on the way out here, wouldn’t allow the Merines to help them with any menial tasks—Shirley sat on the ship’s rail and just watched Gulcasa.

Many of the other people on the boat were still wary of him, and so Shirley noticed that he spent most of his time in the company of his own bodyguards—a pair of knights in ceremonial armor, both with russet-red hair, deep red eyes, and cheerful personalities. The both of them were shorter than their Emperor, but they showed him very little deference—aside from calling him “heika”, a word that Shirley knew meant “Majesty” on their native continent, they spoke with him like equals.

They actually seemed to scold him on several occasions, and even more amazingly, he _listened_ to them when they did.

Shirley wished she had the confidence to go up and approach him, nose her way into their conversations. Gulcasa’s bodyguards seemed kindly disposed towards her and when they spoke to her, they were polite. But she just couldn’t bring herself to. Her self-confidence… would probably never recover from the _last_ time she’d tried to act on her feelings and get closer to someone.

It was close enough to the memory to make her chest twist, and Shirley shied away from it.

She just—wished futilely that Gulcasa wasn’t so _forbidding._ No matter how considerate he was concerning her fears, he was so _unapproachable—_ so distant and remote, with a kind of need for solitude rolling off him in waves Shirley could almost feel.

She remembered the ring he wore, the one that was always on his finger beside the plain gold wedding band. She wondered what its significance was; she’d watched him long enough to see that he never took it off. Maybe it was a family memento, or maybe he’d had someone, some kind of sweetheart he’d left behind for the sake of this alliance. That might be it. That would explain the distance between them even now, at least. But she couldn’t be sure, and she didn’t have the courage to ask.

There was a sudden jolt beneath Shirley, and she wobbled on the rail with a little cry—she’d been so lost in her mind that she hadn’t even noticed the rougher patch of waves approaching the ship. She grabbed at the rails, but another, stronger jolt made her fingers slip—and the third jolt sent her tumbling backwards into the water with a shriek she couldn’t stifle, pain and weakness shooting through her skin.

She heard someone shouting her name before she slipped under, too overwhelmed to try to swim, and dimly registered a disturbance in the water above her before everything was subsumed in the sea’s azure haze.

 

-               -               -

 

When Shirley woke, she was staring at the familiar ceiling of her new room. She had a moment of confusion—that couldn’t be right, she’d been outside—and then remembered, and carefully pushed herself up.

She didn’t have much time to notice anything else before Fenimore’s arms were suddenly around her, hugging her tightly. “You scared us, you stupid Shirley!”

Before Shirley could try to protest or apologize, Fenimore went on. “You were lucky—Walter and I were on the other side of the ship when it happened. You could’ve been really hurt!”

“Then… if you and Walter… who…?” Shirley managed to make out through another fierce hug—Fenimore let her go after a moment and raised her eyebrows.

While Shirley just watched her, waiting, Fenimore raised a hand and pointed past her to the other side of the bed. Nonplussed, Shirley turned in the indicated direction—Gulcasa was perched in a chair there, vigorously toweling his wet hair in what looked like an attempt to dry it.

“He jumped right in after you when he saw you go over,” Fenimore related. “It was—really something, Shirley. Like I said… you’re lucky.”

Gulcasa made a face at the now-drenched towel in his hands and cast it carelessly onto the floor, shaking his head like a wet dog. He was wearing dry clothes, but even after being rubbed down, his hair was still pretty damp. He didn’t seem proud of himself or expecting some kind of praise—he just looked irritated that he hadn’t dried out all the way. Shirley didn’t know what to say to him. Thanking him for saving her seemed—like it would be trite or an overdone effort, or worse, overly formal.

He saved her from having to decide on something, standing and stretching and looking at Fenimore, tilting his head to the side. “Would you mind giving us a minute?”

Fenimore just nodded and left the room quickly, closing the door behind her.

There was a brief silence as Gulcasa sat down again, in the same chair.

“I never knew you were allergic to seawater,” he remarked almost conversationally. “I guess it’s lucky that I forgot for a moment you’re a Ferines; you looked like you were in a lot of pain. Have you been like this long?”

Shirley blinked and shook her head. “I suppose… not really. I was twelve when it first started, and ever since then, I’ve just…”

“Then it was an idiot idea to haul you out here for this,” Gulcasa said emphatically. “Why risk your life for the sake of the alliance? I could have come to you, and saved you the trouble.”

“But—but it was safer for both of us if we… if this happened somewhere between our peoples, and not with one of us in the middle of the other. Just to make sure no one against the alliance or… our marriage… would try to interfere.” Shirley blushed. “B-besides, I don’t usually fall in…”

“Heh. That’s good. It’d be a bad habit to be in.” Gulcasa leaned back in his chair. “Forgive me—I’d come closer, but I don’t want to drip on you.”

Shirley managed a little giggle and ducked her head shyly, falling silent.

There was a long pause while Gulcasa stared at her and she couldn’t think of anything to say.

“…You’re driving me crazy, you know.”

Shirley whirled to look back up at him, surprised. He sat at an angle in the chair with his legs crossed and his face rested against his fist, watching her in consideration.

“You and I… maybe we’re not exactly the kind of people we would have chosen for ourselves, but we didn’t have a choice. Still, that doesn’t mean we have to be distant or hate each other. Unless one of us dies, we’re stuck with this and are going to _stay_ stuck with it for as long as we want this alliance to last, aren’t we? Then why can’t we at least make the best of it?”

He’d been—thinking the same thing she had, all this time? Shirley could hardly believe what she was hearing, let alone form a reply.

“I know that—that if I try chasing after you, I’ll just wind up scaring you off,” Gulcasa went on, shaking his head. “I’m twenty and you’re sixteen, for Brongaa’s sake. And you’re skittish, not to mention I’m often too blunt for my own good. Even if I tried, I—” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “My situation is… I don’t know if I could handle it again. I’m still in a place where every memory is painful, and I can’t… really take initiative in this relationship _and_ handle it delicately while I’m still this raw inside. D’you understand? I’m trying, but you’re going to need to do some reaching out here, too.”

Shirley flushed and wondered, and nodded a little shyly. “I… think I can do that.”

Gulcasa heaved a sigh and leaned back in his chair again. “Good.” He cracked a smile that was more than half grimace. “Your friends Fenimore and Walter have already promised quite sincerely that they’ll tie me to the anchor and throw me over the side of the ship if I’m not good to you, and having to fend them off doesn’t seem particularly diplomatic.”

That mental image made Shirley giggle. She could certainly picture Fenimore trying, and nagging Walter into helping her—though she knew that Gulcasa was supposed to be a powerful fighter.

That reminded her of the way that Fenimore had looked shaken even after she’d woken up and been fine, and she looked back at Gulcasa. “Um… by the way, I… what wasn’t Fenimore telling me about when I went overboard?”

“Oh.” Gulcasa spread his hands. “Beats the hell out of me why, but—when I grabbed you to take you back up to the surface, the water lit up for what must’ve been a mile around. It was damn weird, if you ask me.”

Shirley was rendered completely speechless.


	3. The Ghost of You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _(treasure chest;_ I blame these puddles on the rain)

Shirley ran her fingertips up and down the length of the dresser curiously. She had too many questions—some of them she could never ask, and Gulcasa would likely be unable to answer more. So perhaps she had better start finding out what she could without asking in words.

Carefully, she slid the top drawer open.

There were folded clothes inside—all black, some made of finer material than others. They were laid in neat piles, perhaps neater than Shirley would have expected from a man. She rarely saw other people in here, though, so Gulcasa had to be the one folding them. Maybe it was a bit unfair of her to judge based on stereotype, especially because she knew Gulcasa hadn’t been the Emperor forever. Perhaps he was used to having to fend for himself, and knew to be neat where it counted.

The drawer beneath it also contained clothing—but these folded shirts were red, and the pants were tough denim or khaki, ranging from nearly white to dull grayish green. Shirley touched them lightly and frowned. Aside from the cloak he’d been wearing at the handfasting ceremony, she had never seen Gulcasa dressed in any color other than black. Were these clothes someone else had chosen for him, or was there a reason he assembled his attire this way?

The final drawer on the right-hand side of the dresser held Gulcasa’s formal regalia—that cloak, and also the black crown he’d worn then resting on a cushion. Now that she was seeing it up close and paying attention, Shirley saw that it was covered in reliefs of dragons, and that the rubies and fire opals were balanced on their tails and wings or held in their front paws, or set as their eyes. There was also a plainer-looking circlet here. Its metal was also black, but it was unornamented aside from a dragon’s head wrought at the very center and a large ruby that made up its forehead. There was dust along the bottom of the drawer and the only thing that looked like it’d been touched recently was the circlet.

So Gulcasa really _didn’t_ like to stand on ceremony. It wasn’t just that he was trying to act informal for her benefit or her people’s.

Shirley closed the drawer carefully, then opened the top one on the left side.

This one seemed to contain a jumble of personal effects—hair ties, letter-writing paper, a fountain pen and inkwell, what she thought might be a whetstone. There was a thin leather-bound book with no title; Shirley lifted its cover and flipped through a few blank pages, then found heavy black writing along the lines and closed it. It looked like a journal or diary of some sort, and peeking through that was too much of a violation of Gulcasa’s privacy.

There was nothing else here but a few scattered pieces of jewelry—pendants with dragon or symbol charms. Apparently Gulcasa hadn’t brought much here.

Shirley closed that drawer and opened the one beneath it.

Now _this_ was interesting. There were only a few things in this drawer—a stack of letters written on aged paper, their folds deep and crisp, lay on one side; on the other there was a burnished brass pocketwatch and a ring on a thin pendant chain.

Shirley lifted the pocketwatch first. It looked battered, as though it had been through quite a lot in its life. Opening it, she saw that the clock face was ivory, the numbers written as letters that were painted in gilt. The hour hand was in the shape of a red dragon wing, pointed and elegant and beautifully wrought; the pointer on the minute hand was a black feather, and the one on the second hand was a white feather. All three hands shimmered with rainbow colors as Shirley held the watch up to the light; they had to be made with opal or shell.

There was a short inscription on the inside of the lid, written in perfect, flowing calligraphy carved into the brass but the edges worn smooth with time or touch. There were only three words, a statement both simple and profound: “Count the hours”.

It was a beautiful timepiece. Turning it over, Shirley found only the emblem of crossed wings on the back where the maker’s engraving should be—it looked like it must be custom-made as well, then. Perhaps requested and purchased as a gift, or made and given freely as one. The intimate undertones in its making and especially the message weren’t lost on Shirley, either. This wasn’t the kind of thing one gave to a friend or relative—it was a lover’s gift. It seemed as though Gulcasa _had_ once had someone important to him, though Shirley couldn’t guess how they’d parted—and whoever they were, their memory seemed dear to him still.

That was a good thing, Shirley decided. If you were in a relationship where you loved someone, even if it came to a painful end, it wasn’t right to just up and forget that person. You still had to hold on to those memories, and hope that they would be easier to cherish someday in the future.

Shirley put the pocketwatch back carefully and leaned in closer to look at the ring.

It was very similar to the one Gulcasa always wore, except that it only had one stone in it—a beautifully cut ruby in a vague heart shape. It seemed to be made for a hand much smaller than his. Shirley looked at it carefully for a moment, then turned her attention towards the letters.

The top one, at least, was written in the same beautiful calligraphic hand as the inscription on the watch. The ink wasn’t black, but very deep purple—a rarity; usually only artists and the rich could afford to spend money on colored inks, at least as far as the Ferines went. Shirley didn’t want to risk touching the paper lest she damage it, but at least she could read the first page.

 _My beloved Gulcasa,_ she read, leaning in with excitement. _The air is chilled here at home, and the leaves go to frost before they have a chance to fall. There isn’t snow yet, for which I am grateful, but the nights are clear and cold, and the last of the harvests have been gathered so that there is always a feast to rejoice over every night. Instead of slowing down with winter’s approach, your people have taken new energy to everything they do. It fascinates me, and amazes me in their sincere kindness and caring—providing me with warmer clothes and a brazier for my tower. This is the first winter I’ve been able to be comfortable for, and the first one I can appreciate as beautiful. All that’s missing is you beside me._

 _I ache for the touch of your hand, for the tenderness of your kiss, the warmth of your body in the dark of the night and the pleasure of you inside me in the small hours of the morning._ Shirley went scarlet straight up to her ears and read on hastily. _I’ve grown to depend on you so much, and I need you now beside me here. Please, come back to me as soon as you’re able. There isn’t much time left before_

The first page ended there.

“Time left before what?” Shirley murmured to herself. She was nearly dying with curiosity to know what happened, but she didn’t want to damage the pages. Especially if this really was a stack of love letters. Gulcasa would be sure to notice, and he would be hurt to find out she’d looked through his drawers this way.

Making a face, Shirley shoved the drawer closed. She _was_ learning things she hadn’t known—she’d been right to guess that Gulcasa had a lover. It seemed that their relationship had been very serious, but the ring on its chain told her it was over now. You didn’t return a ring that your beloved gave you unless you were rejecting him or her, or if for some reason you had to part.

Perhaps it had ended recently, and that was why Gulcasa was so distant and moody. The fact that he’d kept all these things showed that his love had been very deep, and that he was capable of a great deal of sentiment.

Not knowing what she was supposed to expect, Shirley opened the last drawer.

“Huh…?”

There were only two things in this one: On the left side, a smaller square of clothing, faded violet in thin and battered linen; on the right, a large, thick book. Shirley hadn’t seen anything purple among the clothes in the other drawers; the color would probably look awful on Gulcasa. And this seemed to be too small for him, anyway.

Dismissing the clothes, Shirley instead lifted the book. It was even heavier than it looked, but she levered it onto her lap and looked it over nonetheless. Its covers were gold, its pages yellow with age; it was bound shut with straps of leather crossed horizontally and vertically over its covers, leading into a lock of some sort. Not sure if she could get it open, Shirley turned the book over and frowned: Its cover was emblazoned with a clock face, upon which rested the crest or coat of arms of a crossed black and white wing, just like the back of the pocketwatch. It had to belong to the watch’s maker—maybe the one Gulcasa had loved.

Shirley’s heart stuttered in her chest when she heard the room’s door open behind her.

She whirled and locked eyes with Gulcasa where he stood in the doorframe. He was staring at her, and very pointedly at the book in her hands. The worst thing was that he didn’t look angry—just wounded.

“I…” Shirley didn’t know what she should say, or even what she _could_ say. “I’m sorry, I—”

Gulcasa didn’t say anything. He crossed the room towards her; Shirley, at a loss for what to do, just offered the book when he drew near. He took it from her, and sat heavily on the side of the bed, looking down at it with a blank expression.

“I shouldn’t have… been going through your things like that,” Shirley said softly, standing up and folding her hands in her skirts. “I’m sorry…”

Gulcasa didn’t answer her. She wasn’t sure if he’d even heard; the closest thing to a reaction she saw in him was a slight tightening of his grip on the book in his hands.

Shirley watched him for a moment, then on inspiration went to pick up her beech chest. Placing it on the end of the bed, she carefully sat beside Gulcasa and rested a hand on his shoulder.

“I think… that if you don’t mind so much, it may be a good idea to put the most important things you have there in this chest,” she suggested, and now he turned towards her. “It’s true that not everything will fit, but… the people on this ship know that I keep small things important to me in here, and so no one will disturb its contents. You can protect these things better that way…”

Gulcasa didn’t even hesitate; he just closed his eyes. “…That’s very kind.”


	4. Cherished

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _(if I never met you;_ you’ll be the pain, you’ll be the scar)

The next night, while Shirley was busy turning down the sheets of the bed and undoing the little braids that framed her face, Gulcasa just stood beside the bedding strewn over the floor and watched her. When she sat down and plumped her pillow, he crossed his arms behind his back and spoke.

“You haven’t asked,” he said simply.

Shirley looked up and found herself holding his gaze. His expression was even, just as his voice had been; she glanced away and shook her head.

“I’ve done enough prying,” she told him. “I thought… if you wanted to talk about it, you would when you were ready.”

“You should know,” he said at length with a heavy sigh. “Yeah… you should… you should probably know. Better than having you wonder, and… I think I’ve needed to lay it all out anyway.”

Shirley didn’t speak; instead she cocked her head a little and gently patted the mattress next to her. Just as silently, Gulcasa walked around the side of the bed and sat, leaning forward in a half-slouch and crossing his arms across his thighs.

“So… by now I’m sure you’ve guessed that there was someone,” he said simply and without preface, looking at her without really turning his head. “We first met… oh, about two years ago. Give or take a month or a few weeks. He was an artificer—a kind of mage that makes tools and jewelry with magical properties. And he was really good at it.”

Shirley wasn’t as surprised as she might have been. Even though it was rare within the Ferines, there _were_ people who found themselves more attracted to their own sex than the opposite gender. Generally, it was accepted when it happened—there really wasn’t anything one could do to change the way one was born to be, after all. And Shirley had wondered about the possibility when puzzling over Gulcasa’s disinterest in her.

So instead of reacting with shock, Shirley just watched Gulcasa carefully. “What kind of person was he?” she asked.

Gulcasa gave one short, harsh laugh and closed his eyes. “Stubborn. Incredibly stubborn, eccentric, snarky, manipulative, difficult in the company of others, prone to saying the worst thing for the moment. Brilliant, world-weary, perceptive, irreverent. He had a dry sense of humor, and a kind of arrogance like he was above it all. Fussy. Shy. Insufferable. And so terribly broken.” He shook his head, his smile bitter. “I loved him with everything I had.”

Shirley said nothing; she just watched and waited.

“We didn’t get along very well at first, but all the same… there was just something that kept drawing us together, like we were on opposite ends of a string someone was gathering to its middle. He was always there when I needed someone—as a shoulder, or just to give me a good kick in the rear, you know? And I always wanted to protect him, even before we got together. He was just a little thing… an inch or so taller than you are, built very delicate. He acted strong, but…” Gulcasa shook his head again. “He was blind, had been for a long time. Used magic to get around it, but—it was just the most visible of a lot of problems. Once it all started to unravel, we just…

“…Well. Eventually we pledged to each other, and my people knew he would be my consort officially. My younger sister Emilia was next in line for the throne, so it was fine; her children would’ve picked up the line after me. Everyone in Flarewerk, our capital, was so supportive, and it just… after everything we’d gone through individually, how hard our lives had been, it finally seemed like something was going to go _right_ for a change…

“We didn’t actually become lovers until just last fall,” Gulcasa confessed with a sigh. When Shirley frowned, confused, he bowed his head. “We would’ve sooner, but… he’d been hurt, someone had hurt him, when he was young. Things like that… hurts like that can linger for decades. He was afraid, and I couldn’t press him—it hurt enough watching just how hard he tried. When we finally managed… it just… I felt it, I _knew,_ that this was it. He was The One. Beyond any vestige of doubt, or… he was my first, and it was so beautiful. That’s the kind of thing that stays with you.” Seeming to catch himself, he made a face. “Sorry. You don’t need every detail, do you?”

Shirley shook her head vigorously. “I don’t mind. You need to talk about it.”

“Suffice it to say he was _everything_ to me,” Gulcasa said with a sigh. “Everything inside me that was dead or sleeping, he woke up. We had the most outrageous arguments sometimes, and then right after I’d be holding him if he was lonely or sad or frightened. The world that had always been so dark and hollow… when I was with him, everything was filled with light and color and _hope._

“And then… last winter…”

Gulcasa’s voice trailed off, and Shirley noticed that his hands were shaking. He seemed to realize it, too; he clasped them tightly and dropped his eyes to them. He still couldn’t seem to manage words, though.

“That was just after negotiations had opened up, wasn’t it?” Shirley probed gently.

Gulcasa closed his eyes and nodded. “It was—maybe a month into winter when it…” He broke off again, drew in a sharp breath, and forced himself on hoarsely. “It was so sudden, it happened so quickly… He was perfectly fine, we were happier than we’d ever been, and then—one day he was feeling a little fatigued and achy and had the slightest hint of a temperature. Then the next, he was delirious.”

Shirley’s chest squeezed.

“I didn’t… I don’t even understand now. Scarlet fever, they said. All the best doctors, all the best healers—they did everything they could, but…” He opened his eyes, blinked once, and a silvery tear raced down his face. “He was always… so frail…” He just shook his head. “It couldn’t have been more than a few days when… nothing more they could do, they said. Just make him comfortable, they told me. It just came—out of nowhere; one minute we had everything to look forward to and then the next…” He let the sentence hang. He didn’t need to finish it. “He was… mostly lucid the last few days. At least there was that. But he was so weak…” A second tear followed the first, then a third. “I was with him every minute. Every minute and it could _never_ be enough… it was breaking my heart, and breaking his, and it wasn’t—fucking— _fair—”_ Gulcasa gritted his teeth, closed his eyes and shuddered. “And all I could do… all I could do was be there. All I could do was be there, and hold him in the end, so he wouldn’t be alone. All I could do… for the one who was my entire world…”

Shirley didn’t know what she could say. This—this was too much. It was too awful, too sad. She was having a hard enough time coping, but at least Senel was still alive. Even knowing he would never realize the depth of what she’d felt for him, even knowing they were out of each other’s reach forever, she could still wake up every day knowing that he was well and happy. To have to face the simple task of going through the motions in a world without Senel… even the _thought_ was too painful to bear. How hard must it be for Gulcasa to just get up every morning?

And yet even now he was squaring his shoulders, bracing himself against the mattress and scrubbing his face dry. “To be honest, I think I threw my country into a panic,” he went on, his voice thick but not cracking. “I just gave up for a while, left everything to my sisters and my court. Do you know, I think half the reason they agreed to your Elder’s idea of this marriage is because they were hoping to snap me out of it. It worked, to a point. It was something to do, something to get me up and putting at least a half-assed effort into living again. But… it’s surprised me a little.”

“What has?” Shirley asked, clearing her throat softly and wiping at her eyes. They stung and felt too damp, even after she did.

Before he replied, Gulcasa reached out and softly brushed his fingertips over her cheek.

“The way that sometimes, I see him in you,” he said simply.

Shirley didn’t know what to say, but she knew that the pain she felt on his behalf was nothing to what he actually had to be feeling. So she reached out and rested a hand on his shoulder, and the next thing she knew he was holding her tightly, crushed against his chest.

He needed this—even if he wasn’t really holding her but the memory of the one he’d loved and lost, he needed to be able to hold on to something. He’d lived every lover’s worst nightmare, even more unspeakable than being rejected or repulsed. A lover estranged was still a lover living. Shirley’s heart broke for him, and she was rendered speechless by the strength and courage he had, the bravery he’d needed to start over like this.

“Don’t you leave me,” he said softly. “Don’t you ever leave me the way Nessiah did. I couldn’t bear going through that again. I couldn’t keep living if I lost anyone else.”

“I would never,” Shirley replied, and meant it. She laced her fingers together over the ridge of his backbone and closed her eyes.

They’d probably been sitting that way for at least ten minutes when Gulcasa released her and eased her back. Closing his eyes and drawing slow, even breaths, he made as if to stand; Shirley stopped him by taking a fistful of the fabric of his shirt. Gulcasa looked down at her questioningly.

“I…” Shirley shook her head, and smiled crookedly, sadly. “It must be awfully uncomfortable, sleeping on a wood floor like this. Please. You need a good night’s rest. Sleep here tonight.”

Gulcasa didn’t argue. He just retrieved the pillow from the tangle of sheet and comforter on the floor, and set it on the side of the bed that should’ve been his. He sat there and swung up onto the mattress in silence, only reaching out to touch Shirley’s shoulder and kiss her cheek with a tenderness that made her heart stir painfully before he lay down.

When Shirley drifted off to sleep that night, it was with his arm protectively around her and his warmth at her back.


	5. Slow Dancing in a Burning Room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _(locket;_ so many memories we’ve yet to make)

From that morning on, Shirley woke each day to the novel pleasure of being held by a man. Whereas she’d watched Gulcasa sprawl over his makeshift bedding on the floor, he didn’t seem to toss much when they slept side by side. She’d fall asleep with his chest against her back, and when she woke up he would still be there, holding her no matter which way she faced. It really amazed her just how safe and protected it made her feel for him to be there; his warm body pressed against hers was something of a source of comfort, more so because he still wouldn’t press her for sex.

And it helped that Shirley knew it wasn’t due to any opposing interest or disinterest on his part. As things were, Gulcasa was every bit as unprepared for that kind of closeness as she—because the truth was that no matter how normal and capable he seemed on the surface, he was actually still grieving. His lover’s death had ripped his heart apart from the inside out, and despite the months that had passed since, he had yet to fully recover. He was probably leaning on _her,_ in his own unobtrusive way.

It worried Shirley, but it also made her want to be strong for his sake. That was something she’d never experienced before, either. She hadn’t decided yet whether or not she liked it.

“Is it alright if I talk to Fenimore about this?” she asked him after a few days had passed, a little uncertain.

Gulcasa just raised his eyebrows. “You’re a good girl,” he told her simply, “and you’re discreet. Fenimore’s your best friend, and she won’t herald it all over the ship if you ask her not to. I know you wouldn’t have that. It’s fine with me.”

So gratefully, she turned to her best friend and drew her away after breakfast that morning, finding a space abovedeck where they could speak quietly. And she explained the basics while the two of them tore rolls into pieces to toss out for the seagulls.

“Did you have any idea?” Shirley asked, watching Fenimore lob half her roll over the side of the deck, where it bobbed in the waves to be fought over by a few of the gray-white birds.

“None,” Fenimore replied, rotating her shoulder a little. “I mean, I admit I _was_ wondering a little what the deal was with him always being so out of it all the time. His council was just telling everybody he was sick. I don’t think I ever really bought that.”

Shirley nodded and waited; it looked like Fenimore was still gathering her thoughts.

At length, the other girl snorted. “And let me tell you, this is gonna be one interesting marriage from here on out, now that you know what he goes for.”

Shirley grimaced. “It seems more to me like—like before, he fell in love with someone who happened to be male, and now he’s married to someone who happens to be female. I don’t get the same feeling from him as I do from men who only seek other men… if that makes sense. I just think that gender doesn’t matter very much where he’s concerned—only affection does.”

“You’ll be a lucky girl if that’s true,” Fenimore quipped, raising her eyebrows.

“Either way…” Shirley sighed and shook her head. “Either way, sooner or later, we’re going to have to do our duty for each other. It’s what’s expected of us, after all.”

“The way you’re looking at it, I hope it’s later,” Fenimore told her. “It won’t be any good if it’s just another duty. If you’re waiting ‘til he’s ready and he’s waiting ‘til you’re ready, you better want him by the time you both are. If you have to anyway, you may as well have fun, right?”

“Oh, as if you’d know to compare,” Shirley scolded with a light slap on Fenimore’s shoulder. Usually she’d be happy to have her friend’s opinion, but she hadn’t liked Fenimore’s digs at Gulcasa, and didn’t like her lofty tone now. “As I remember, ‘duty’ was the _last_ thing on your mind when you jumped into Walter’s bed.”

Fenimore snickered. “Hee, _nothing_ was on my mind then but hormones and ‘thank you, God’. You’re right, though. I guess I just hope he knows what he’s doing, is all.”

Shirley blushed and shrugged. She knew Gulcasa had already had a lover; it stood to reason that he would know what he was about when the time came.

 

-               -               -

 

Fenimore and her one-track mind aside, Shirley was just happy to be more comfortable around Gulcasa, and that they could let down their guard around each other a bit more.

If she wasn’t talking to Fenimore or Walter, if there wasn’t something she had to take care of as the Merines, she spent her time around him now. When she did, she told herself to forget he was her husband, banishing the “H word” and “W word” to a distant corner of her consciousness. He could be just a man she knew and liked, and she could be just Shirley, the girl he was getting to know.

Gulcasa was self-admittedly intensely curious about eres, and asked her a number of detailed questions about the powers an eren held. Shirley actually had to really think to answer him.

“The way people use magic on my continent is completely different,” he told her. “Maybe it’s just because of the company I’ve kept, but the system the Ferines and the people around here use is fascinating.”

In turn, Shirley asked careful questions about his home and family. She tried to avoid bringing up the subject of his lover, worried that it would distress him, but found that everything seemed to involve him in some way. Gulcasa didn’t seem to mind, thankfully—he cheerfully shared his better memories with her, and smiled over them himself.

“My life was _very_ miserable before the revolution,” he told her candidly. “The Emperor before me was put on the throne by the head of a kingdom we’ve always been bitter enemies with. Under that king’s direction, he worked to exterminate any family that was supposed to have dragon blood. Our family, and everybody else who had the tiniest trace, tried to go to ground, but it was hard. For us especially—we’re the real Imperial line, after all. It was a miracle we were able to stay in hiding as long as we did, especially with four kids.”

He told her stories of that time, and Shirley was amazed that he could find so much humor in them, even more amazed that she found them funny as well.

“But things are better now?” she asked tentatively, anxiously.

Gulcasa laughed at that. “It’s like a different country. Everyone but the nobles who were taking payments from the old fogies was damn fed up with the government; it’s been two years and the common folk are _still_ celebrating. Viva la revolution, I guess. I love my army. My parents may be gone, but my army is like the extended family I never had.” His eyes and smile softened. “Not that we weren’t capable beforehand, but Nessiah really kicked the forces into shape. I swear, we would never have gotten the whole country back without him. He got us our border back, and if the damn kingdom’s army sticks so much as a _toe_ over that line, or tries to, we’re going to incinerate them. If we can’t have freedom, we’ll happily die trying to keep it.”

Shirley shook her head, marveling. She could only imagine feeling that strongly about anything; because of—Senel—she’d never accepted her people’s innate suspicion of the Orerines, and so didn’t feel the need to struggle against them the way many did.

Gulcasa laughed again. “Actually, though, the possibility of that has gone down a lot, thanks to you,” he remarked, reaching out to trace the line of Shirley’s cheek.

She blushed, baffled. “Me?”

“Yes, you. Fantasinia probably doesn’t know what a Merines is, but now that she’s our Empress, they’ll be more cautious about their desire to nibble at our land. The title sounds formidable—and it should; I’ve heard chapter and verse from your people concerning what you’re capable of when vexed.”

Shirley’s blush spread, and she mumbled something indistinct about unworthiness and overly exaggerated tales. Gulcasa shook his head at her.

“Don’t sell yourself short,” he said gently, tipping her face up so she’d have to meet his eyes. “It’s not just what I’ve heard, it’s what I’ve _seen._ You’re an amazing girl, Shirley Fennes.”

 _He means it,_ she realized, and her chest lurched a little. The feeling wasn’t unpleasant, just new and strange. She’d never heard anyone say something like that about her before.

Her confusion at that flew swiftly out over the waves as he bent slightly and set his lips to hers for the first time.

She felt it first as a jolt in her belly, acutely aware of his hands gentle on her shoulders, her hands flat against his chest. Strands of his scarlet hair fell softly into her face, a tickle that paled against the odd sensation of his mouth against hers. His lips moved a little, rubbing on hers—another jolt in her belly—and she almost forgot to breathe as he coaxed them apart with the tip of his tongue.

Her pulse was raging in her chest, her eyes wide; there was a surprised little cry half-caught in her throat as her body pressed against his. She was suddenly very aware of everything—his heartbeat quickening under her hands, the salt smell of the air and the distant cries of gulls, the softest moan from him as his left arm folded softly around her waist, his right hand resting at the nape of her neck. His eyes were closed and there was a little crease at his brow as his tongue slipped into her mouth.

 _Oh, my,_ Shirley thought distantly as her heart crashed against her ribs.

Gulcasa’s movements were very, very gentle as he eased her along, but somehow they had her whole body pounding. When he traced her tongue with his, she felt it all the way down to her belly; when she mimicked him hesitantly, his soft moan made her vibrate intensely. It felt like everything inside her was flinging itself awake, jumping up and down and screaming; a riot of sensation clutched and rolled in her belly, and heat gathered everywhere they touched.

She made a little desperate sound, then another, then a sigh as he pressed her close to him, his mouth working faster against hers. She shivered and her eyes half-closed, overwhelmed; the world seemed so bright and warm and his chest was hot against hers. The word _awakening_ occurred to Shirley as he bent her back, as did the word _amazing._ And then the word _arousal,_ sharp and exciting in a prickle from her chest to the secret places inside her and back.

And then Gulcasa pulled back, easing her down.

Shirley blinked at his chest, then looked up so that she could blink at him directly. She was quivering all over, all her senses tingling with the rush of information. Gulcasa looked a little flushed, the same way she felt, and she wondered if it she was right in feeling that he hadn’t wanted to let her go so quickly.

 _Everything inside me that was dead or sleeping, he woke up._ Shirley remembered Gulcasa saying that before, and her insides flip-flopped. It sounded very, very much like what she’d just been feeling—but that couldn’t be, could it?

Silently, Gulcasa lifted her hand and turned it palm up, covering it with his. He placed something there. Shirley looked down at it, still unable to find her voice. It was a simple silver heart on a chain.

“Wear this for me,” Gulcasa said softly—and was his voice a little rough and uneven, or was it her imagination? “Not as my wife, but as someone I care for. The one who’ll look after it because it’s been entrusted to you, because _I_ decided to give it to you myself.”

Shirley blinked at it, then looked back up and managed a nod.

He cupped her face in his hand, and leaned down again. His mouth found hers very tenderly, very briefly, and the pressure of his lips on hers was gone in a heartbeat. He was stroking the side of her cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“I’ll go get ready for the ship dinner,” he said, and then was off.

Shirley found the nearest wall and sagged against it, clutching the little heart pendant in one hand and raising the other to her face. She traced her lips slowly, wonderingly. They felt swollen and overly sensitive, and the blood pounded in them from this new and unexpectedly sensual use.

“Wow,” she managed at last.


	6. Kingdom Uncharted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _(mythological creatures;_ holding diamonds in your hands)

“I think most of the people in the Empire have at least a few drops of dragon blood—if only because of how our country was established. The original people were all like I am… either that, or they were my clan’s allies. Eventually the people of my tribe intermarried with the ordinary humans, until our bloodline spread out.”

Shirley smiled and leaned back. “I… like the idea of that. My own people… have never forgiven the Orerines, the land-dwellers, enough to stay around them for the time it would take for a marriage. That’s why there are so few of us, and why our blood is still so relatively pure. The elders of each village monitor our people’s pairings and control our marriages to prevent severe inbreeding… there are always people like Walter and Fenimore who make their own choices, but that’s been very rare of late.”

Gulcasa just laughed. “God, if we had to live like that, we’d be _so_ inbred by now. Especially after the purges. The only blood-law we have is that the Emperor or Empress’s blood has to run true—that’s our term for someone being visibly dragon-blooded.” He gestured idly to his face. “Gold eyes, red hair—the ears.” He fingered the points on his. “And hotter blood than a human. You’d better stay away if I’m ever so hurt I’m bleeding externally—my blood’s hot enough to give you first or second-degree burns. My father’s blood was as true as true gets, like his father’s, and his mother’s, and on and on back up the generations. My mother—had partial blood, I think, not enough to show. Mama—my stepmother, that is—was as human as my father was dragon, though.”

Shirley smiled. She loved to hear Gulcasa talk about his family and his home. Compared to this place, Bronquia sometimes sounded like a paradise.

“They say that in ancient times, before humans began to overtake all the lands, there were great dragons everywhere—my ancestor, Brongaa, was just the last of them to hold out against humans. And not just the fire dragons of the land—they say there were great dragons of the sky and the sea, too.” A thought seemed to strike him then, and he turned to Shirley with a curious expression. “Wouldn’t it be something if the Ferines were actually all just distant descendants of one of the water dragons? It’d be far enough back that you might not even know because there are no records. It could be, couldn’t it?”

“I… suppose it could,” Shirley replied, bewildered. That _might_ explain a lot—although it would have to be thousands and thousands of years back.

“We could be reuniting two of the old clans that way,” Gulcasa said with a laugh. “As things are, since you’re not exactly human either, my people might see you as a Sprite or some other such thing, like out of our legends.” He was silent for a moment, then laughed again. “That’s quite a cross.”

“It certainly is…”

“Makes you wonder a little how our kids will turn out,” Gulcasa remarked absently.

Shirley went brilliant scarlet and giggled uncertainly.


	7. Aqua Vitae

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _(sunrise;_ close to awakening me)

It had been a very late night, and Shirley was exhausted. The day had been a flurry of papers and talks and consultations with those who ran the ship, dawn to dusk, and then there’d been the ordeal of the ship’s dinner. Gulcasa had been kept just as busy as her, so they’d barely been able to speak. She hadn’t even had Fenimore to keep her company—and she should’ve guessed why even before she passed through Fenimore’s hall and laid a suspicious ear to her door to hear a female voice groaning with pleasure and a man’s low grunts of exertion.

The images those sounds had provoked had stayed in her mind as a blurred imprint all day, and it made her feel a little—tense and anxious, she supposed. She had too much pent-up energy, and fewer places to channel it than Fenimore.

Ever since the day of that astounding kiss, Shirley had become aware of Gulcasa’s eyes on her. He watched her with a gaze that was both predatory and possessive, even inhuman in its force; it made an excited feeling spread in her lower belly, and when Fenimore had caught him at it, she’d giggled and joked quietly about men _undressing you with their stare._ Shirley had giggled, too, but she didn’t think that was quite it. Gulcasa might _wonder_ about it, but somehow she didn’t think he was really fantasizing. Yet.

They’d kissed again on several occasions, and every time it had been about as heated as the first. They’d broken those kisses a few times to find that Gulcasa’s hands had come up to cup Shirley’s breasts, and once things had gone so far that Shirley slipped his hand between her legs and held it there, rocking into his palm as they kissed until hot pleasure had burst there, leaving her weak and shaky. They might have done all manner of other things—Gulcasa’s eyes had been very desperate—but they’d heard someone coming and leapt apart, hurrying to straighten their clothes, and hadn’t had another opportunity in time.

The nerves Shirley had been nursing since their handfasting hadn’t vanished. It was more like they were dwarfed by the force of her wonderings, her wantings. Ever since the kiss and the mad things it had done to her emotions, Shirley had wondered what her feelings towards Gulcasa were becoming. The only thing she was sure of was that the first kiss and the kisses after had awakened her desire.

And on a dull day like this, she’d had little to think of _but_ that desire. After its dullness, she was feeling a little… reckless, too.

Too much energy, not enough places to put it. Shirley lay still along the mattress, staring up at the ceiling as her eyes adjusted to the darkness—Gulcasa had just turned off the light and gotten into bed; he was still lying turned away from her.

Feeling daring, Shirley rolled onto her side and inched closer to Gulcasa, studying his back for a moment before closing the distance between them, lightly pressing her breasts against his shoulderblades, resting her palms along his shoulders.

He shifted to face her, and even in the dim night lighting she saw him raise an eyebrow at her. She smiled, her heartbeat starting to speed up, and leaned in with a shift against the pillows, bringing her lips close to his. If only out of curiosity, she knew he would bite.

And he did, leaning in to brush his lips against hers, reaching out to cup her shoulder as he explored her mouth leisurely. Shirley felt—warm and shivery all over; heat was clutching in her belly again, and that sense of recklessness was spreading. She wanted him to touch her and not stop.

So when his hand covered her breast, she leaned her body to his, and shuddered sweetly as the pad of his finger grazed over her nipple. It had gone as hard as if she were chilled, and his touch made her skin—almost prickle, but not quite; it was an almost disembodied sensation Shirley couldn’t accurately describe. She only knew it made the blood pound fiercely in her lower belly, made something in her tighten sharply.

She _wanted_ him.

Gulcasa pulled back to breathe, and his voice was amused when he murmured, “Aren’t we adventurous tonight. You have something specific in mind, or are you just experimenting a little?”

The right answer was _maybe both,_ but Shirley smiled. “Can we?”

A pause. She couldn’t really see the look on his face when he asked, “…You’re ready?”

She shuddered. “Ready to try, at least.”

And another pause from him; his hold on her gentled a bit. “You’re not scared?”

“A little.” It was an easy question to answer honestly, here in the dark.

But she’d decided anyway. In his silence, the statement was as clear as if he’d shouted it. “If you tell me to stop, I will,” was all he told her, and then his mouth was on hers again.

She remembered Fenimore moaning enthusiastically, Walter’s labored breathing, the faint protest of bedsprings. She remembered the number of times she’d heard the sounds of their sex when looking for one or the other of them. She remembered being told the physiology of the act, and being warned of the pain. And she remembered how she and Gulcasa had fumbled at each other’s clothes that time, the pressure of his hand between her legs, the urgent huffing of her own breath as she’d brought herself violently to climax against it.

Then there was a shift of bedsprings and he was on hands and knees over her, his mouth soft on hers and his hands softer on her breasts, and it was hard to remember her own name.

The pressure of his right hand disappeared, and she heard—felt—the shift as he fought with his own clothes, shifting their kiss as both his hands slid down her sides, under the skirts of her nightdress to slip her panties down her hips. She lifted her ankles for him to let him remove them, and shivered at the sudden draft of colder air as he lifted the bedclothes to discard them. He let them fall, and the warmth returned; his hands rested at her hips as he kissed her cheek and the side of her throat.

“Your heart’s beating so fast,” he murmured, and he sounded dizzy. It made her heart skip lightly.

“I want this,” she reminded them both.

His hand was between her legs too softly, too swiftly for her to jolt. He pressed over her, stroked her, with his forefinger and then the side of his thumb; his breathing was slow and even and his eyes were half-closed like he was concentrating intensely. She didn’t jolt either when his fingertips circled her, entered her shallowly; he was still stroking and the pleasure ached too sharply for her to squirm. He seemed to be exploring her by touch as much as gently preparing her, stretching and touching and staying still for a moment, letting her know the feel of something inside her. It felt wet, coarse, ticklish. He rubbed inside her and pressed outside, and her night-blurry vision went hazier as her breath shuddered in something not—quite—a sigh.

“Try not to fight me,” he told her, and his voice was hoarse. “It might hurt if you do.”

He parted her legs further and she strained them as he settled his body over hers. She felt him touch her, push at her, startlingly hot and hard, and then he was inside her.

It did hurt—one sharp bright flash of pain—and she gasped a little as he pushed deeper into her very slowly. It felt strange, and it ached—not as painful as when he’d entered her, but her body still protested it. Her breath came in rapid little pants, and his shuddered; she felt his muscles shaking, they were so close, and the nervous dampness to her skin made his breath feel cold as he exhaled very slowly, his cheek pressed against hers. He lowered his body against hers until she bore his full weight, her skin blazing with sensation as his skin pressed to hers, his muscles taut against her belly, the full length of him inside her. Shuddering, he lifted his hips—under his rapid breathing and hers and the brutally loud sound of her own heart beating, she _heard_ him sliding out of her; it was a feeling of slickness, and it ached even more. And then he was moving above her, inside her, his hips rocking slightly. He was still shaking, but he settled his hands back over her breasts and kissed the side of her throat. Shirley closed her eyes and drank in the _feel_ of it. Her nipples were almost painfully hard, and he stroked them in gentle circles and even though it didn’t ease, exactly, it felt—very—good.

He was thrusting into her, his breathing soft but sharp, and the deeper into her he pressed the more it ached. Or, not ached—the burn of it was too sweet now to be an ache, the rock of his body into hers too mesmerizing, the push of her hips against his sharply pleasurable. She moaned a little every time they met; she couldn’t help herself.

 _Oh, Nerifes,_ she thought nervously, and gasped. “Ah—”

Her body pressed against his, _clung._ His movements against her were roughening, the thud of his hips to hers audible now. Her belly felt tight, and she was acutely aware of him inside her—every stroke, every contour—as she clamped her thighs to his waist. He was panting shallowly; the bedclothes rustled as their bodies rose and fell.

She gave up trying not to and just gave a little cry with his every thrust.

“Shirley—”

She thrust her own hips to his desperately, familiar heat pulsing in her groin as she crashed against him and overwhelming heat gathering inside her as he pushed deeper.

“Ah—”

She gasped with the force of her climax, then slumped dazedly into the sheets. He was still moving inside her, a distant pleasurable echo as his breathing sped up, and then she was being pressed into the mattress as he came into her. She _felt_ him break, _felt_ the rush inside her, detached and bewildering.

He settled over her when his hips stopped pumping, making her bear his weight again. He lay on top of her in a sprawl, his face turned into the pillow. She could feel his heart hammering, his skin vibrating against her chest. He was still inside her.

She murmured something; she wasn’t sure what. Dreamily, she lifted her arm and ran her hand down his back in a slow, repetitive stroke.

“Shirley,” he said softly, his voice muffled in the pillow.

There were knots in her belly. Her body felt heavy and liquid, as if she were kissed by water, like she’d just swum for a long time, like she’d just been blessed by Nerifes. It had hurt, and then it had turned into a kind of glory. Want ached and throbbed between her legs, the same way it had after he’d touched her that time. Thick wetness rolled inside her, and the knots in her belly tightened.

Gulcasa shifted, and she suddenly realized he’d felt her body clutch. He got up on his elbows, but then stopped. Shirley wondered if she’d done something, and then she felt him go hard inside her.

He shifted again, awkwardly this time; she could almost see him blush through the darkness. “Shirley—” he began hesitantly, his voice drenched in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I—”

She smiled. “It’s okay,” she murmured back, nervous excitement rippling in her belly. _Again,_ her body thrilled, and she squeezed his hips with her thighs. Want churned at her.

Still he hesitated; he didn’t seem to know what to do. Shirley lay back against the pillows and pushed herself against him; she moaned softly and he drew a sharp breath as she took him deeper inside her.

He was pressed against her so closely, and he was so full and so hard as her body tightened around him—she _felt_ herself squeeze in, another wet clutch and roll, slickly fisting around the length of him—she moaned again and pushed her hips to his in another awkward thrust.

“Wait. Wait.” His voice was a desperate half-moan, and his hands were fumbling at her waist. She shuddered and held still as he sat up, and arched up off the mattress as he stripped off her sweat-dampened nightdress. The air was cold against her skin; she shuddered, and he lowered himself to her again, leaving the tangle of blue cloth hanging over the mattress’ edge.

This time he pressed his mouth to her breast, and she gasped, winding her legs around his waist to keep their hips pressed close. His back was arched, and he held her at her waist, keeping her hips from pumping; Shirley gripped the sheets and moaned hard as he traced her nipple with his tongue, dragged his lips over and off its upraised point, then bent again to suckle, sending fire through her breast and pleasure blazing between her legs. She struggled to press to him, and moaned again as he shifted his hand lower, teasing her just above where they joined.

She panted out his name as she came, arcing her chest up and pushing her hips to his, and gasped when he shifted his lips to the side of her throat, crushing her to the mattress as he thrust.

She couldn’t see, couldn’t hear over her heartbeat and her cries of ecstasy. His lips formed the words _so tight_ against her skin, and she was, but he was moving so _hard,_ and he was so big and he raked the inside of her rapidly, faster and faster and faster.

 _“—unh—nnh—ah— **ah—”**_

Her vision went to bright glitter, and she clung to him and fought him, forgetting herself and _screaming_ in pleasure. Then he was fighting, too, and desperately; his hips were still thudding to hers in time with her racing heart when she slumped exhausted to the bedclothes.

Then he arched up and back, and light cast from the window played across his face—Shirley saw that he was flushed, his expression almost helpless—and choked on her name like it was an oath. His hands were heavy along her hips, pressing them to his as he slammed them together, filling her. His movements were fierce enough to reverberate through her body, making her breasts tremble; she lay and breathed and watched him with wondering tired eyes. The inside of her almost— _drank him in_ as he came; it was like the hardness of him and the pliant folds of her and his hot release and their mingled sweat and the wetness that kept pooling out from her had mixed into the waters of life.

She ached a little, but at the same time she felt so _alive._

Gulcasa came to a rest, shaking, and planted his hands to either side of her as if trying not to collapse on top of her. He seemed so much more worn out than she was; Shirley wanted to ask if he was alright but couldn’t quite find her voice. Still, when he raised his hips and started to pull out of her, she squeezed her thighs around his waist to stop him.

He swore softly—in exhaustion or disbelief, she couldn’t tell. “Are you trying… to kill me or something…?” he demanded without any real venom. “I need rest. Can’t… do this all night. Need to sleep…,” he lifted a hand and gestured weakly. Through the dark, she saw that his chest was heaving, and that the low light played a sweaty sheen over his muscles.

“That’s… not it,” she managed in something that was more croak than normal speech. “Just stay… inside a little more… it feels good.”

He shook his head, but he didn’t voice a protest. Instead, he lowered his body to rest half upon and half beside hers, shifting and stretching out, draping his arms along her waist and the soaked mattress.

“This… better…?” he asked hoarsely.

Shirley smiled. She felt fluid, silken, made of light; there was a wonderful sensual pleasure in maintaining the link of their bodies even like this. “Much,” she murmured.

He didn’t reply; Shirley was too tired to press him for an answer or see if he’d fallen asleep. She just rested into the pillow and closed her eyes.

 

-               -               -

 

When Shirley woke, it was almost dawn.

There was a bit of light scattered through the room, enough that she could see without squinting. She glanced lazily around the room—what she could see of the bed was a wreck, and the room was cast over in rosy tones. Her nightdress wasn’t on the side of the mattress anymore—it had probably fallen off.

Her cheek rested against Gulcasa’s chest, her body still pressed flat along his. She lay on top of him now, though, as he slept on his back; they must have shifted in the night. She was straddling him, her thighs splayed around his hips and strewn along the mattress. Her belly clutched as she realized it; it seemed like something out of a romance novel.

He was still inside her. And he was _hard._

It took Shirley by surprise at first; then she remembered it being mentioned to her (by Fenimore? one of her village’s women? she didn’t remember) that this sometimes happened with men.

She actually _felt_ herself go wet, her belly tightening, as she realized what this meant. And she smiled to herself as she pushed herself up.

Gulcasa was still asleep, and apparently oblivious that anything was out of the ordinary. His expression was peaceful, blank and even; his hair spread around his face on the pillow in a scarlet halo. Maybe this _was_ ordinary for him—except for the circumstances of last night, anyhow.

If Shirley was lucky, she could wake him easily. She raised her hips a little, and then rested them against his, repeating the motion of the almost-thrust; it made those same slick sounds, and from the urgency she felt, she wouldn’t have been surprised if it squelched. It was an awkward thought, one that had her wanting to giggle; instead she brushed kisses along her husband’s chest as he frowned, then shifted and raised a hand to his face.

Shirley sat up, still straddling him, and smiled down at him as he first blinked up at her, then colored and glanced evasively away. He was actually _embarrassed_ by this—it was a little bit cute.

“It’s not like I can help it,” he said a little gruffly, threading his fingers through his hair.

“You’re not going to hear me complaining,” she told him.

He looked back at her with a perplexed expression, then covered his face and sighed.

“…Insatiable little thing, aren’t you…?”

Shirley could only laugh.


	8. Dancing on the Bones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _(loyalty;_ never better bridges that I’m bent to burn)

“…And that’s it for the briefing on how the combined military will function. Now, moving on to economic issues…”

Shirley blinked and tried to conceal a yawn behind her hand and sleeve, then glanced sideways at Gulcasa. He was staring straight ahead with his chin rested on the heel of his own hand, and probably would have seemed if not interested then tolerantly paying attention if she hadn’t gotten to know him much better. He was likely at least as bored as she was.

She knew that these talks were important, but if she were to be honest with herself, it was really rather tiresome that the two of them were required to sit in. There was nothing for either her or Gulcasa to contribute—they just had to sit still and listen, and maybe look some papers over. All the details got decided by Maurits’ diplomats and the men Gulcasa had brought with him from Bronquia, and these meetings were all about the nitpicky little details of their alliance. There were still three and a half months left of this aimless voyage, and none of it really mattered right now—it might later, and these people were entertaining themselves too, but oh, Shirley really wanted out of the things.

At least there were only about ten minutes left of this one. Shirley propped an arm on the table and rested her cheek in her palm so that she could watch Gulcasa from the corner of her eye; it would be so good to get up and stretch and move around, and talk with him more, and maybe head back to their room to exchange a little one-on-one attention.

That _did_ seem like a good idea, she thought to herself again mildly—if she concentrated on it too much, got too eager, then she would wind up blushing and attracting too much attention from the diplomats. Instead, she shifted a little where she sat and softly—so softly—moved her foot over so that she could brush the pad of her slipper over the top of Gulcasa’s foot.

He sat a bit more upright—not quite _jolted,_ but she watched his awareness flick on—and gave her a sidelong glance of his own as she rubbed the tip of her foot over his in circles.

Gulcasa shifted again, now staring at her as intently as he could without turning his head; Shirley did her best to keep her expression innocent as she removed her foot and sat still again.

There was the very softest sound of shifting fabric, and then Shirley had to stifle a yelp as warm fingers settled on her thigh.

Gulcasa’s hand drifted downwards, his fingertips brushing over the top of her leg towards her knee, curling around the inside of her thigh as they swept gently and smoothly back up again. That touch stopped dangerously high, and then his fingers traced idle patterns over her skin as she felt the fabric of her lacy panties start to dampen. Shirley nibbled at the inside of her lip and stayed _very_ still—if she moved, he might accidentally touch her between her legs, and if that happened she would never be able to keep herself silent. As it was, she had to rest her face in one hand, putting her fingers over her cheek to hide any redness. (She was so glad her hair would help to hide it; she really couldn’t spare both hands if she was going to get him back for this.)

His hand lifted away, and she trembled from mixed relief and frustration—her body wanted _more_ of that, but the continuing drone of the bureaucrats talking meant that for now at least, that probably wasn’t a good idea. Just think of how embarrassing it would be to actually wind up making noise…

Although, that risk was why this was so much fun, wasn’t it? Besides, she had to get him back, outdo him somehow and test his own ability to keep quiet a bit.

So Shirley reached—careful to keep her hand under the table still—and touched the small of Gulcasa’s back, absently letting her fingertips drift down his spine until her hand was resting on his ass.

She wanted to giggle—or at least smile—but she just nibbled the inside of her lip again and squeezed.

He didn’t _gasp_ so much as draw a very slow breath, but the sound was soft and sharp and had the ring of victory in Shirley’s ears—or perhaps not, as he was now looking at her _quite_ intensely.

 _I’m in for it now,_ Shirley thought to herself—it was a little giddier than she would’ve liked to admit—but right then, there was a great scraping of chairs as the diplomats and the bureaucrats stood up and congratulated themselves and each other. The meeting was, miraculously, _over with_.

Shirley got up awkwardly as they filtered out, pushing her own chair back as Gulcasa started to stand. He actually seemed a little red-faced—was she imagining it?—as he turned to look at her with a stare that was mostly intensity with a bit of childish sulk mixed in.

She met that gaze for a few moments, then ran with her skirts and hair flying, giggling like mad all the way. Behind her, she heard him cursing (probably loudly—she’d left him behind easily enough) and then there were distant footsteps chasing her.

Still giggling, Shirley skidded around the corner, nearly running into a few people (she felt their stares following her) as she pelted down the hallway towards her and Gulcasa’s room. She’d just reached it—had her hand on the doorknob and the door was swinging inward—when warm strong arms encircled her waist and lifted her into the air.

“You lucky girl,” Gulcasa growled into her shoulder, spinning her around; “you lucky, lucky girl. You’re not getting away with that.”

Shirley squealed and giggled more and let him spin her, sticking her legs out to drag her feet along the wall and slow them down when she started to get dizzy.

“But I still won,” she told him breathlessly once they’d stopped, and he growled again.

“You’d better thank that lot for saving you.”

“Oh?”

“You couldn’t’ve stayed quiet with what was next.”

“Couldn’t I?”

“Nope.”

And he whirled her into the room; the door was closed behind them before she could blink and her feet had barely touched the ground when his hand was stroking up under her skirt, much more firmly—Shirley’s shoulders pressed up against the door—his palm brushed over the skin of her belly and then his hand slid under her panties, two fingers inside her.

“—ah…”

His eyebrows went up and he cursed softly in what sounded almost like admiration.

“You’re pretty worked up already…”

Shirley smiled at him and leaned back against the door as she panted, cupping her right hand over his and holding on to his shoulder with her left. There was no need to be quiet anymore, so she let herself moan at the pleasure and sigh with relief when he brought her to climax.

Gulcasa pulled his hand back and Shirley slipped the panties off—they were too wet anyway; she would have had to change them no matter what. He bent slightly and hooked his arms under her knees—Shirley leaned against the door harder—and with his hands planted against the door on either side of her waist, hers on the broad muscle of his shoulder and at the nape of his neck, he rose to his full height and pushed their bodies together. Shirley sighed again and arced her back as they joined.

It had been weeks since that first night, but this—the physicality, the tenderness, the pleasure, the _wanting_ —still felt so new. She clamored for it; it felt as though she’d forgotten that she was a young woman with physical needs just like Fenimore and Thyra and all the other girls she knew until Gulcasa’s touch first reminded her, and now that she’d been reminded all she could do was _want._ Someday the novelty would probably wear off, but everything was new and felt so good in so many different ways—even the slightest differences brought new kinds of pleasure—so Shirley couldn’t see that happening anytime soon. And she didn’t mind.

Now, for instance—with all her weight rested on Gulcasa’s arms, Shirley could barely move; right now he had all the control. When they made love in bed, her body under his or over his, she did everything she could to just rush for pleasure and release and moved desperately and dragged them both to climax as fast as she could; her own desire was too strong for her to rein in. Pinned as she was now, Gulcasa was taking her in slow powerful strokes, his hips moving like a piston so that she _felt_ every bit of every movement. It overloaded her senses with pleasure—she could _almost_ come from it but not quite. It was like a delicious kind of torture, because it felt _so good_ she could hardly bear it, and yet in the end it would feel so much better for it.

Shirley matched her breathing to his and let the soft noises—the whimpers and moans—escape on her sighs to the rhythm of his sounds of exertion; hazily, she watched him take her. Erotic as it was to stare down at the joint of their bodies, she preferred looking up at Gulcasa’s face; his eyes were closed and his brow was knitted and she could see from his expression that it was as hard for him to stand how good it all felt as it was for her.

Under her hands, his shoulders trembled; Shirley pulled him closer, and he leaned down to kiss her briefly; it changed the angle of their bodies _just_ enough, and Shirley tangled her hands in his hair, shuddering with pleasure as all her muscles went tense (she felt herself tighten; Gulcasa’s breath hitched on a moan that was nearly pained) and then loosened. He was still moving inside her, and it drew that airy feeling out.

He started to move faster—more strongly. And he was panting more harshly. It might have been a little painful if she weren’t already so wet, and her back felt numb from being pressed against the wood of the door so hard. Her legs slipped a little against his arms, bringing her a bit closer to the door—she let out a soft cry of surprise, and then groaned as he moved harder, making her backside brush against the wood.

Shirley wanted to tell him that it was alright, he didn’t have to push himself, to just let go already—but her breathing was too heavy, too erratic for her to manage words.

“…Shirley—…, Shirley—”

Hearing him call her name like that—all desperation, no control—was just too much. She came again as he thrust into her deeply, and then he was moving so hard that her backside slapped to the door until finally he pinned her flat, his back arched, shaking. She clung to him with everything she had as he let go, coming into her forcefully.

It felt like it lasted a long while, even though it was most likely only half a minute at most, and then he relaxed and so did she. But he stayed still, holding her up, and Shirley didn’t let go of him; they simply stood and leaned on the door and each other and breathed.

 

-               -               -

 

All in all, despite the boring meeting… it had been a good day.

“Someone looks happy,” Fenimore said lightly as they rested on the cabin wall later that evening.

Shirley considered a bit, and smiled, red creeping into her cheeks. “I guess I am.”

“Oh, you _guess?”_ Grinning, Fenimore smacked her shoulder.

The first time Fenimore had come up to her with wiggling eyebrows and a vast grin, Shirley hadn’t known what to do, but gradually she was becoming less embarrassed by the innuendos and the gentle ribbing. Fenimore was including her—and even more, _congratulating_ her. It _was_ embarrassing, but it still felt nice.

…Shirley had no idea whether she’d ever be able to return the favor and tease Fenimore about Walter, though. Even if she had some idea what to say, she kept getting tongue-tied—knowing Fenimore, she might actually _answer_ to Shirley’s teasing, and she wasn’t sure whether or not she wanted to know.

“Poor Thyra,” Fenimore said with a grin. “When we get back to the Legacy, she’ll be the only old maid out of the three of us.”

“You never know,” Shirley replied innocently. “We’ve been out here for a while. Maybe she’ll have a boyfriend or they might have arranged someone for her to meet.”

 _“Our_ Thyra?” Fenimore scoffed dismissively, then scowled. “If she has, I’ll punch him.”

She couldn’t help but giggle. “Fenimore!”

“What? I’m allowed to defend my little sister’s honor.”

“You didn’t try to defend _mine!”_

Fenimore made a troubled face and crossed her arms, her pigtails swishing. “That’s different; I _saw_ you falling in lust. It didn’t jump out at me all of a sudden.”

 _Falling in lust._ Shirley pondered the phrase and nodded to herself. It felt… right, mostly. Gulcasa was important to her—he was her husband, her friend, her lover; she liked being around him, talking with him, and being in bed with him (both the lovemaking and its aftermath). And it had all come from friendship and attraction.

They kept growing closer, and she was glad for it. Gulcasa wasn’t Senel, and she hadn’t fallen in love with him at first sight, but perhaps—perhaps she was falling in love with him slowly. He was here for her, and looked at her and considered her in ways other people didn’t. There weren’t that many people who saw Shirley, a girl with wants and needs and strengths and frailties, when they looked her way; Gulcasa was one of those few.

And that was a very good feeling.

 _Am I happy?_ Shirley considered it privately. She wasn’t miserable and she wasn’t lonely. That in and of itself was a wondrous thing, especially what with the way she’d been only a few months ago. She didn’t know if she could call this true happiness—but she was content. And she was grateful.

There were footsteps to the right of her, and Shirley and Fenimore both turned; Gulcasa and Walter were headed toward them.

“You two look like you’re having fun,” Gulcasa remarked. He was grinning at them like he knew something they didn’t, hands in his pockets. Walter was stoic as ever. “Mind sharing?”

Fenimore stuck her tongue out at him. “Girl talk. You don’t get to be in on it.”

“Come on now, that’s just cold.” But Gulcasa laughed and didn’t press the subject.

Walter inclined his head in Shirley’s direction. “Merine—”

Shirley, Fenimore, and Gulcasa all looked at him.

“…Shirley,” he said, and sighed. He looked rather sheepish; it was hard not to laugh.

“At least you’re getting better about that,” Fenimore told him, and patted his shoulder. “Anyhow, what was it?”

“I just needed to say that it looks like your presence won’t be needed at the meetings as often from here on out.”

Shirley looked at him, nonplussed—she and Gulcasa certainly hadn’t been demonstrative enough to be a bother to anyone _in_ the meeting, so had Walter actually spoken to them on her behalf? She smiled at him and bowed her head a bit.

“Thank you, Walter.”

He shook his head, wearing the same stoic expression as always, but the way he wasn’t meeting her eyes told her that she’d probably embarrassed him.

“No need. It seemed to be a waste of your time, so I just—”

“I appreciate it,” she interrupted, smiling. Walter went quiet, and there was definitely red in his cheeks now.

“Yeah, Shirley’s got better uses for her time. Speaking of which—” And, grinning widely, Fenimore linked her arm through Walter’s and began to march him backwards in the direction of the main cabin.

“Wha—Fenimore—”

“C’mon, we need to give the cute couple a little space.”

“Fenimore—!”

“Have fun, kids!” And the two of them disappeared through the door.

Shirley shook her head, smiling, not sure whether she wanted to burst out laughing or hide her face. That had to be one of the most obvious segues and escapes she’d ever seen out of Fenimore.

“Now, did she want to give _us_ a little space, or did she want it herself?” Gulcasa murmured next to her, sounding amused.

“Gulcasa!”

“Just saying.” Shirley looked up at him; he was smiling wryly, and shrugged. “For all the sidelong looks we get from everyone around us, those two are _still_ worse than us. And how long have they been together, anyway?”

“At least a year.” Trying to remember how long exactly would take too long. And Gulcasa had a point, she realized.

“You probably didn’t see hide nor hair of either of them when they first hooked up, huh.”

“…Not really.” She’d wondered, vaguely, and assumed that they wanted to be alone to be soppy and romantic at each other. Now that she consciously thought about it, though, that really didn’t fit their personalities too well. And with personal experience, she knew better.

…It would probably be better to decide to be amused by Fenimore’s hypocrisy instead of embarrassed, Shirley decided. Perhaps after sex and sexuality stopped being quite so _new,_ it wouldn’t be quite so disconcerting to consciously realize that other people had sex regularly.

Right now, though, when it was hard enough to deal with her own hyperawareness of her body—well, best to take things one step at a time.

“Well, we can’t exactly let ourselves get outdone that easily, can we?” Gulcasa’s arms were very suddenly around her, and Shirley leaned into his chest, giggling a little. He was always so warm, even when the sea breeze was like veils of ice crystals against her skin. Sometimes it made the bed a little _too_ hot in the morning, but Shirley was glad for it every other time of day. It wasn’t like Gulcasa could help it anyway; she imagined it had to do with what he’d told her about his literally burning blood.

“I don’t know. As much as I like being with you, there’s such a thing as overdoing it, too.”

“Guess so. After all, we’re not nymphomaniacs like your crazy friends there—sex addicts,” Gulcasa added with a grin as she looked up at him—“I just like being with you, too.”

Shirley reached up and cupped a hand over the nape of his neck (he was so _tall)_ to pull him down, and got up on tiptoe to kiss him briefly. The touch wasn’t as hungry or as desperate or as heated as it tended to be—just soft and sweet and warm.

As she eased herself down, Shirley unfolded Gulcasa’s arms from around her waist and took his hand, walking over to the edge of the ship and resting her hands on the railing.

“Whenever we wind up going back to the Legacy, I wonder if I can talk Maurits into giving you a true name.”

If he considered the shift in conversation sudden, Gulcasa didn’t say so; he just leaned on the railing next to her and put an arm around her back, hand on her shoulder. “A Ferines surname, you mean, right?”

“Yes. I call myself with your family name now—I want to accept more of your customs the way you’re learning about ours—but I think it would be nice if my people showed you the same acceptance.

“We don’t even have a word for your people—not really. There are records of you, but no real formal name. Since we’re the people of the water and the Orerines are the people of the land, you should be Kerines—the people of fire.” Idly, Shirley reached down so that her fingertips hovered above the waves; Nerifes splashed up to meet her hand playfully. “It’s an alliance and right now it’s just real on paper and on this ship, but it’s going to be good for my people to realize they don’t have to be enemies with every other race.”

Gulcasa’s hair brushed her cheek as she saw him nod from the corner of her eye, and then he reached down and pulled her hand up.

“—Shirley. You should know better than to do that. You’ll hurt yourself.”

“It’s okay.” But she didn’t remove her hand from his; she liked the curl of his heavy fingers and rough palm against the thin back of her hand. “Ever since that day you pulled me out of the water—ever since the Rite of Feriyen was performed and Nerifes gave us its blessing—my allergy has been going away. Even the sea breeze used to sting my skin before, but I think that by the time we’re done sailing, I could even swim in the ocean again.”

She looked up, and Gulcasa was frowning at her in confusion. She smiled at him.

“My allergy to seawater—I told you I wasn’t born with it, right? It was part of my deal with Nerifes, back when I first completed the Rite of Accession and became a true Merines. As long as I loved one of the Orerines, my full powers would be restricted like this; in return, I could try to bring peace to this world.”

“Shirley.”

She wanted to ask him _what is it,_ but then he was holding her tightly—as if he were afraid she’d go somewhere if he let go, or maybe as if there was something he wanted to protect her from.

Her eyes burned, and so Shirley tucked her face against Gulcasa’s chest and they stood like that for a while.

“…Oh my, am I interrupting?”

The familiar voice was like a slap, and Shirley jolted in Gulcasa’s arms, going stiff. His hold on her eased, and he stood up straight to look at the newcomer; no longer shielded by his embrace, she saw and couldn’t look away.

Her heart felt like a stone in the ocean of her body. Sinking.

Stella was beautiful as ever, everything a storybook older sister should be—long hair spilling from the bun behind her left temple, the folds of white wrapped around her body billowing elegantly in the wind. Her hands were rested over her belly, which rose up to meet her fingers in a graceful swell.

Shirley’s skin went to ice, and the stone touched the floor of the world. Behind her, the sun touched Nerifes in a fiery kiss, setting the caps of the waves ablaze, dazzling her vision and making her head hurt.

“I haven’t seen you in _such_ a long time.” Stella’s laugh was perfect as ever, the tinkle of ice, but it felt sharp at the edges, and maybe it was Shirley’s imagination, but her sister’s smile seemed cruel. “We need to spend more time together—catch up—introduce our husbands to each other. That would be fun, don’t you think? Do a little sisterly bonding. Shirley.”

She was supposed to reply here, nod her head like a good little girl, a good tagalong, a good outsider to the oblivious happiness Stella and Senel had always shared. But Shirley’s throat was as frozen as the rest of her.

“Sorry, but I think she’s not feeling too well right now.”

Gulcasa’s voice was a shock, and it broke the spell Shirley had found herself under. Blinking, she looked up at him; he was facing Stella. His words were polite, but they had a bite to them.

“If you don’t mind too much, we’re going to head back to our room now.”

“Oh, of course. We can always talk about it later.”

Gulcasa’s arm was around her shoulders, and before she could do much more, he was leading her into the cabin and through the halls.

It seemed like a few blinks later, they were in their room. As Gulcasa locked the door, Shirley walked over to the bed in a daze and sat heavily. She could move—she was sure she could speak—but she still felt numb.

“I—thank you.” Gulcasa looked over his shoulder at her; Shirley dropped her gaze and shook her head. “I don’t know how you knew, but—thank you.”

“A couple of weeks ago, Fenimore took me aside and pointed your sister out. Said there was some bad blood between you, and you’ve had trouble being around her since.  And I didn’t like the way she was smiling at you.”

She heard footsteps, and then Gulcasa was kneeling in front of her, holding her hands and staring up at her intently.

“You don’t look alright, but—do you think you will be?”

Shirley closed her eyes and sighed.

“Yes—yeah. I think so.” She sighed again. “I’m… glad Fenimore told you. I don’t think I could have done that.”

“She didn’t tell me what happened, she just said I had to be careful. Said it was for you to explain, if you wanted to.” Gulcasa squeezed her hands. “For all that she’s a nymphomaniac, she’s a pretty good friend.”

Shirley had to laugh a little, and the way he squeezed her hands again made her sure he’d said that to make sure she still could.

“And, Shirley?”

She opened her eyes and looked; Gulcasa was still watching her intently, his features softened in a gentle not-quite-smile.

“Whenever you want to talk about it, I’ll listen. You never tell me to shut up about Nessiah, and you were there for me to keep me from drowning in his absence—so whenever you want a buoy, I’ll be here for you.”

Impulsively, Shirley leaned forward and threw her arms around him, holding him hard.

“Shirley—?”

“Shh.”

Gulcasa fell silent, and wrapped his arms around her. …He was warm, and she was grateful for it; it pushed the ice out of her skin and made her feel more like she was alive than if she were an arctic sea buried in ice floes.

“I… I don’t think I can tell you everything now. I can’t. I’m not as strong as you are.” And she laughed a little; it felt like she would never be strong enough. “But what I can tell you is—my first love—the one I was willing to defy Nerifes for—he chose Stella—over me. Before I could even tell him— _anything._ He never even saw me. Only my sister. Only Stella. Only perfect, beautiful, strong, wonderful—”

“Sounds like an asshole to me,” Gulcasa said calmly, and she faltered, easing back to stare at him.

“Gulcasa.”

“I don’t know your sister very well, and I admit I’m biased. But I don’t know how any sane man could ever decide to pick the ice bitch that showed up to gloat about stealing your first pick over _my_ perfect, beautiful, strong, wonderful Shirley.”

“…Gulcasa.” Shirley put her hands on his shoulders and squeezed them. He was looking at her very blandly, and his words had been so _matter-of-fact._

“But, hell. I guess I’ll be selfish and glad he was an asshole.” Gulcasa smiled at her and framed her face in his hands. She felt his fingertips play across her temples and through her hair, and the layers of calluses on his palms were velvet on her cheeks. “Because that way _I_ get you instead.”

She couldn’t speak. That smile was unfair. His face, and the intensity of his stare, were so harsh until he smiled—and then he went from predatory to fairytale prince, as if by some kind of spell.

Perhaps seeing that she couldn’t answer him, Gulcasa leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers, eyes half-open. Shirley’s heart stumbled and fluttered, surfacing from that dark pit inside her. She felt like the only woman in the world.

Something felt lighter—and yet weightier—inside her, and Shirley kissed him back with quiet determination, her hands firm on the muscle under his shirt. Gulcasa’s hands settled at her waist, and his breathing deepened with hers. He was shifting downward—probably to kiss the side of her throat—when there was suddenly an impact that rocked the entire ship.

Flung forward, Shirley held on to Gulcasa hard; he braced himself against the floor in a crouch and snarled. The shockwaves evened out, and realizing that she’d better let go of him so that he could stand, Shirley released Gulcasa and stood up, looking out the window. She couldn’t see anything amiss—but then, that shockwave had come from a different direction.

Gulcasa was on his feet beside her, looking around. “What the hell…”

There was an explosion of voices—shouting, angry and fearful. The voices overlapped and ran together, but Shirley clearly heard the cry of _pirates._ And adrenaline shot through her veins like a dash of ice water to her face.

Gulcasa swore and made for the weapons hung on the wall; Shirley clapped a hand to her pocket and blanched as she remembered: All her casting quills were on the other side of the ship, in the tiny armory she and her people had brought.

“Gulcasa—”

He looked back at her, distracted, his hair whirling. He’d chosen the heaviest-looking of the scythes, and looked wilder than ever with it balanced in his hands.

“Gulcasa—you had a pen, didn’t you? I need something—anything to write with—a quill would be best, but—”

Hesitation flickered in his eyes, but then he stepped forward to the dresser and fumbled Shirley’s little chest open, sorting through the trinkets and his own treasures briskly but not roughly. At last, he came up with a large black feather and held it out to her.

“It won’t write, but will this do?”

“Yes—”

“Just don’t lose it,” he said, and pressed it into her hand hurriedly (yet with the utmost care). And then he was out the door, scythe held with its haft against his arm so that it wouldn’t hit the walls. Shirley gripped the feather in her hand and followed him.

The deck was all pandemonium.

Ferines and men in armor—Gulcasa’s guards—tore back and forth, fighting with roughly-dressed men wielding falchions. There was still some sunlight, although the red eye of the sun had almost vanished beyond the horizon. Through the gaps of people running, Shirley saw that another, smaller ship had pulled up alongside the Silver Teriques, and that grappling hooks were pulled over the railing, connecting them.

Gulcasa pulled her close. They were still just at the door, and it didn’t seem as though they’d been noticed yet.

“Cut the ropes and make them lose their escape route. I’ll cut you a path. After that, we make them burn. We attack the same targets. I know you can use fire. Don’t worry about it hurting me. Let’s go.”

And he pushed forward hard, the crescent of his scythe gleaming silver as a roar louder than any voice Shirley had ever heard exploded from his lungs.

“GET OUT OF MY WAY IF YOU DON’T WANT TO DIE!”

It took her only half a second to blink away the confusion, and gripping her makeshift quill, Shirley followed him.

Just as he’d promised her, Gulcasa was carving a path for the both of them. The waves of battle parted around him as blood sprayed in every direction, bodies falling heavily in a gruesome kind of lane. Shirley had no time to be shocked or disgusted or afraid—this was Gulcasa and she trusted him, so she ran after the red banner of his wind-tossed hair.

Shirley heard familiar voices shouting—there was a flash of white far in the distance, swirling fists and feet that she couldn’t stare at for too long—gold wings spread and flapped hard a few yards in a different direction, briefly illuminating Stella’s intense expression and the sweat on her face—Walter’s zephyrs were interspersed throughout the crowd, their silhouettes distinct, and the loud sound like two glasses being struck together told Shirley that Fenimore was somewhere nearby, directing one of the automata they’d brought aboard the ship into battle in her stead.

And then they’d arrived—they were at the rail, and a wide space came clear near the ropes. There were still men on the ship, Shirley realized, and more of them were heading towards those ropes, ready to give their fellows more backup.

There was a heavy sound of air moving, and Gulcasa was there, swinging his scythe wildly to _keep_ that clear space clear. Shirley ran to stand behind him, entrusting him with her back as she focused her power into the quill she held and swung her arm, projecting her teriques.

Far and fast, a streak of blue ripped through the ropes, sending them exploding to either side of the divide with a twang for all the world as if they were broken strings on some massive instrument.

“Was that all of them?”

“Yes!” Shirley turned and stood with her feet squared, gritting her teeth and glaring into the crowd. They were surrounded.

Gulcasa took a step back, murmuring something under his breath. The pirates boxing them in, furious at losing their way back, moved as if to close in—

And then the air around Gulcasa erupted.

Fire—bright, unearthly red fire—formed a halo around Gulcasa’s whole body, and the air around him suddenly became heavy. Even Shirley could feel the pressure dragging at her, and it was a shock to her chest to look at his face and see that his eyes were blank, empty pits of molten gold.

Gulcasa raised his head, and held his scythe before him, silent. Shirley and the surrounding pirates watched him, entranced. The moment seemed to suspend for ten minutes—fifteen—but it couldn’t have been that long, because the next moment Gulcasa had thrown himself into the mass of enemies before him, hair and clothes streaming, a whirlwind of fire and whirling blade and death.

And no one was watching Shirley.

She held out both arms as her nails and her hair began to glow. With Nerifes everywhere, it was all too easy to tap into her full powers, and her quill flew through the air before her almost of its own accord, dragging her arm behind it in rows and rows of glowing Relares script in the air. Pale gold and pink fire shot down from the sky to rip through the pirates.

The fire was effective, but it hit too few targets and casting it again and again to make up for that would take too much time and effort. Shirley narrowed her eyes and made sure to keep Gulcasa in her field of vision. It wasn’t hard—he shone brighter than any star, brighter than the moon, brighter than the sun itself.

“O comets whose brilliance lightens even the darkest of skies, favor this ground for the fulfillment of thy eternal journey…!”

The eres lit up a good half of the ship’s deck as stars crashed down on the men in front of her. Shirley trusted her power, and Nerifes’s strength was there to steady her aim. Gulcasa was far enough away to be safe, and her own people knew her eres well enough to avoid any damage.

Slowly but surely, they were decimating the enemy.

And still, no one had approached her. These pirates were strong and they’d had the element of surprise, but Shirley supposed they must be disorganized—they all tried to pile onto the dangerous enemies they saw before them rather than she herself, even though she was tearing them apart with her eres from the seaside. With Nerifes’ knowledge, she understood that the ship had already pulled back and was heading away by oar; there was no way that the rest of them were getting out of here alive.

 _We have them._

—Walter and Fenimore had most of the pirates cut off from the rest, where the knights Gulcasa had brought with him and a few of their own iron erens were carving them up neatly. Stella and the crystal erens were backing up Senel and the rest of the iron erens in seeking out any stragglers.

And Gulcasa had turned the wall of forty attackers into fifteen, holding every one of them off and striking them down one by one.

…The flames around his body were starting to gutter, and she could see the irises of his eyes through that haze of gold. He’d put too much strength into his initial charge, fought too recklessly and too desperately—his strength was guttering.

Shirley took a breath and rose up onto her toes, holding out her left hand as her right sped back and forth in the air, frantically conducting in Relares.

“Great will of the ocean, fairly if thou deemest me thy proxy, then let all hear thy marvelous voice—”

The power swelled in her, and Nerifes rose, her will one with its—its with hers.

“Gulcasa—!”

He lifted his head at her call, and broke through his opponents in a dash. Shirley felt more than sensed him arrive at her side—and she let loose the sea.

Water roared and burst in funnels, and Shirley rose on the power. Her heart, her body, and the waves surged—and broke—and she was standing feeling a bit drained as the water burst into droplets and faded, leaving the deck covered in the bodies of the dead and the only men standing their own.

Breathless and suddenly feeling nauseous, Shirley turned. Gulcasa closed his eyes and the fire that haloed him died out—and the next second saw him staggering. Shirley grabbed the rail with her left hand and reached out to support Gulcasa with her right arm, fist still clenched tightly on the black feather he’d given her.

He was breathing hard and his shirtfront was drenched in sweat, his skin slippery with it. But he held onto her just as tightly, and kept her on her feet even as she kept him on his.

They stood like that even as cheers of victory began to rise all over the ship, a mixed choir of Ferines and Bronquian voices that resonated straight to the sunset sky.


	9. Tomorrow Never Waits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _(endless summer;_ under the weight of your wings)

Shirley lay on her front in bed, staring absentmindedly at the little locket Gulcasa had given her a while ago.

Up until now she’d just sort of kept it with her, but this morning, she’d opened it on a whim.

The locket wasn’t very big, so the tiny little portraits inside were—well, _tiny._ Shirley couldn’t make out facial features, and the pictures on the front and back halves of the locket were crowded with people. Shirley was sure she counted at least fifteen people between the two.

Gulcasa was there. She could tell him by his hair in any crowd, and this was no exception; there was also a small girl with hair the same color, and a number of young women with fair hair. Everyone was bunched together, and they looked happy.

She sighed, and wondered if there would be any room for her in that crowd.

It was a little scary to consider there might not be, but… all the same, what with how motley the crowd itself was and how many people were there… she thought that there might still be room for one more.

 

-               -               -

 

She’d been feeling a little strange over the past few days, so instead of going out on deck, Shirley had decided to stay in their room for today. Nerifes seemed to be in the mood for mischief today, and so the boat was headed over a rough patch of waves. Shirley was lying down on the bed, feeling listless and not much inclined towards movement.

When Gulcasa had looked at her with a questioningly raised eyebrow earlier, she’d shrugged and that was what she’d told him. He’d just shrugged back and smiled and said that everybody should be entitled to a few days of doing nothing now and again.

It was such a poor excuse that she had to wonder whether or not he already knew the real reason she wanted to stay here. It would be easy to tell—easier, at least—if she went out on deck and weathered the caps of the waves. But she’d decided to stay here and be avoidant.

Merines or not, she was still sixteen, and it was a bit of a frightening thought.

Her life had been a series of more and more violent upheavals over the past few years. The Rite of Accession had given her power in the same stroke it had crippled her, and right after that, there’d been the exodus of the Ferines to the Legacy, the peace treaty with Rexalia, and the mounting tensions between the other nations. Shirley had met Walter, Fenimore, and Thyra around then, and it had been the first time in her life she’d had friends other than Senel and Stella.

There’d been troubles on the Legacy over the past few years, too, but out of those troubles, she had met a lot of nice people too—Ferines and Orerines both. She’d gained some ideals, as well.

She’d lost her first love, too—lost Senel to Stella long before she’d even realized it. If she’d been a little more astute, paid more attention, she might not have had to see all of that. If she’d actually been able to confess her feelings, Senel would have turned her down gently—not the brutal way she’d been shown how she could never have him.

And then, the marriage. Knowing Gulcasa. Learning to care for him. It had been months, but at the same time it felt like it had all gone by so _quickly_.

Sighing, Shirley reached out to pick up the black feather quill on her bedside table.

After that battle, Gulcasa had said she could keep it, so she’d carefully formed an actual quill from it, and made sure she took the best care of it, always making sure she knew where it was. Gulcasa had never said as much, but Shirley was sure from where he’d kept it—and the way he’d acted when he’d told her to use it in that fight—that it had belonged to his old lover.

Shirley turned the quill over and over, idly admiring the play of light over the soft ruffled ridges of the feather. And as she did, she wondered what Nessiah would think of her.

All she knew about him was his name, the stories Gulcasa had told her, and the fact that he’d really and truly loved Gulcasa. If he could see the way she was with Gulcasa now, would he approve? Would he be jealous or think that she wasn’t good enough? Would he think that as long as Gulcasa was happy, Shirley herself didn’t matter so much?

For that matter, what did Senel think about her relationship with Gulcasa? She’d never mattered so much to him—he probably still saw her as the tagalong little sister—but all the same, she had to wonder now that it had occurred to her.

She couldn’t know that, either. She’d been avoiding Senel all these months, even though he was on the ship with them—the slightest hint of him, and she ducked away and hid somewhere else.

Someday, when the sight of him didn’t make her remember that night—maybe Stella’s constant proposals that they all get together and talk would be a good idea. Once she’d gotten more used to being with Gulcasa, and the loss of Senel wasn’t a wound anymore.

She wasn’t strong enough right now to take his unthinking, casual kindness—or Stella’s gloating. Someday, she wanted to be.

Shirley rolled over and sighed.

She wanted to face up to this, too—whatever _this_ happened to be. She could be wrong. It was just… all happening so _fast._ She wanted time to get her bearings, to not be so bewildered by it all.

Still, her mind traced and retraced all the dates, juggling numbers until she thought she might give herself a headache.

 _It’s not as if it’s going to go away if I spend any longer trying to ignore it,_ Shirley thought to herself, and sighed again.

At least she’d already gotten dressed before she’d decided this room was where she wanted to spend the rest of today. Slowly, unwillingly, she moved over to the side of the bed and pushed herself up until she was sitting. The waves were still going—the wind was probably picking up any slack Nerifes might show—and didn’t seem like they’d stop anytime soon.

Shirley sat at the edge of the bed in a daze for a little longer, then swung her legs over the side with a sigh.

She stood up, then walked in slow steps to the door.

Just put one foot in front of the other, and walk forward—like the wedding ceremony. And look at how that had turned out. Shirley smiled to herself, faintly, and headed out into the hall.

It was largely empty—everyone must either be busy or outside. Shirley supposed she had to be grateful for that—the floor was moving rhythmically under her feet as the boat shifted on the waves, and she rested a hand on the wall to help her steady herself. Ordinarily, she never even had trouble balancing in storms. She hardly even _noticed_ the waves on days like this.

Emerging on deck, Shirley paused with one hand on the doorframe, lifting the other to shield her face as the wind pulled at her hair. The air smelled very sharp, and the waves felt bigger than she’d thought they were.

There _were_ a lot of other people out here, come to think of it. On the port side of the bow, Fenimore seemed to be teasing some of Gulcasa’s knights while Walter looked on. Some of the workers and diplomats were clumped up ahead of her, talking—likely enjoying the chance to get some fresh air after all those stuffy meetings—and Gulcasa himself was leaning on the prow. The wind was tugging at his hair merrily, tossing it into a steady fire-colored stream.

She might as well go over to him anyway if she was going to test this out, so Shirley swallowed and ventured slowly out onto the deck. She already felt a bit unwell, but surely that was just nerves.

Waves rocked the ship, and Shirley almost stumbled. That had been a _definite_ lurch of bile at the back of her throat. Her legs suddenly felt weak, and her insides seemed to have tied themselves in knots.

Not knowing what to do, she tried to walk more cautiously, steady herself more, but trying to maintain her balance made her feel even worse.

 _Please don’t let me actually throw up,_ she thought desperately, and swallowed hard.

As she picked her way closer across the deck, Gulcasa straightened up. She watched him push his hair out of his face, and then he turned. His gaze settled on her, and his expression hazed into concern the moment before he started walking towards her.

“Shirley, you don’t look so good.”

 _I don’t feel so good, either._ In addition to the nausea, she was now going over the dates again in her head, furiously. She was too scared to run it over on paper, of seeing the numbers spell out the truth for her; as long as she did it mentally there was still a chance she might have made a mistake.

“You said you didn’t want to get up, so you shouldn’t push yourself.” Gulcasa rested a hand on her shoulder as if to steady her, and brushed the backs of his fingers over her forehead as though checking her for fever. “Want to go lie back down?”

Since she didn’t trust herself not to throw up if she tried to talk, Shirley just nodded.

Gulcasa didn’t reply in words, but there was a somewhat distressed look on his face as he slipped an arm around her waist for support and they walked towards the cabin again.

Shirley closed her eyes and leaned on him, tall and solid. She wasn’t sure what she would do without him here, and she certainly hoped that he would be able to handle what she had to tell him now.

It didn’t take very long for them to reach their room, and Gulcasa wordlessly brought Shirley over to the side of the bed, making her sit down. She appreciated the solid ground to rest on (so to speak), but this was probably the most anxious she had ever seen him— _definitely_ the most anxious, she amended as he knelt in front of her, his gaze steady and worried. If he were a lesser man, she would almost consider him to be fussing.

“You shouldn’t push yourself if you’re getting sick,” Gulcasa said quietly. “I know it’s hard to just lie around, but your health’s more important in the long run, all right?”

Those words, and Gulcasa’s serious expression, made her guilty for even considering being amused. _That’s right—Nessiah died of an illness, didn’t he._ Shirley swallowed, mentally checked the dates one last time, and laid her hands on Gulcasa’s shoulders, as much to steady herself as him.

“I don’t think I’m sick, Gulcasa.”

He shook his head. “You’re staggering around all queasy, and you just don’t get seasick. I’d really rather be safe than sorry.”

“I really—don’t think I’m sick. I mean, I’ve been trying to remember the dates and the numbers right, and I just—I’m sorry this is so sudden, but…”

He tilted his head slightly to one side, his forehead creased in a way that told her he wasn’t following her. Shirley took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She could at least hold the panic off long enough to communicate herself clearly, couldn’t she? After all, she hadn’t gotten herself into this all alone, and a lot of how this was going to go would depend on his reaction. Whatever that happened to be.

“I think,” Shirley said, and then swallowed again— “I think I might be pregnant.”

“…Huh?” Gulcasa froze. Shirley thought idly that the look of blank incomprehension on his face was cute.

“I mean… I didn’t realize until recently, but I missed my last period and I should be on one soon, but I tend to get very tired before them and hungry during, and I’m not. I’ve been feeling a little sick for the past few days, but it only lasts until the afternoon, and being out on the open water should never bother me.” She had to remind herself to take a breath, and did. “I haven’t… worked the dates out on paper, but I have in my head, and it seems to match up.”

Gulcasa shook his head slightly and looked down, running a hand through his hair. “It seems logical. And besides,” he closed his eyes and his brow creased as a wry note entered his voice, “we’ve been sleeping together kind of a lot, and we’ve never thought about anything like protection. I think they call that kind of thing ‘asking for it’ in most cultures.”

Despite herself, Shirley had to bite back the giggle.

Gulcasa ran his hand through his hair again, raking his bangs back harshly. He exhaled sharply, then opened his eyes and looked up at Shirley, carefully reaching out to rest his hands along her waist.

“Seriously?” His voice was quite soft, with no edge of accusation; his expression was nearly marveling. “We’re seriously having a kid?”

Shirley tried to speak, but her voice felt a little wobbly, so she nodded instead.

“Holy _crap.”_ Gulcasa’s hold on her tightened a little, and he bowed his head. There was real wonder in his words, almost excitement. “We’re having a baby. _Holy crap.”_

“You’re not—angry?”

“No. Hell, how could I be? If anyone has the right to be angry, it’s you.” His right hand lifted from her left side, and he waved it idly before placing it on her back. “Contraception is the man’s job, I’m older and more experienced, and all that. And still. I know we both figured this was going to happen eventually, I just didn’t think ‘eventually’ was going to be this soon. Holy _crap.”_

Shirley leaned forward, resting her cheek to Gulcasa’s temple and linking her fingertips over the ridge of his spine. “Are you nervous?”

“That’s a loaded question. You’ve got more to be nervous about than me,”  he pointed out, voice muffled against her chest. “But yeah. Still—I expect to be questioning my sanity in five months or so, but this is way preferable to you being sick. I can handle little kids, even if I don’t know that much about babies in specific. You seem like you’d be good with kids too.”

Shirley couldn’t help herself; all she could do was smile. Somehow or other, they had gone from arm’s length apart to holding each other tightly.

“It’s a little scary, but we have each other, don’t we?” Because that was what all this meant. She wasn’t alone. Gulcasa was here, and she had Walter and Fenimore, and her people; they would have their child too, one day not far off. She would meet Gulcasa’s family sooner or later, and no matter what they thought of her, she wouldn’t be alone. No matter how isolated the both of them had once been in their grief, they had connected, and they would never be alone again. If anything, the child they’d started should be called the ultimate proof of that fact.

“…Yeah, we do.” Gulcasa straightened up, pulling out of Shirley’s half-embrace; he shifted up to sit next to her on the bed and leaned against her side, and she became sure that he was thinking the same thing. “And…”

“And?” Shirley looked up at him. Gulcasa was smiling.

“It’s selfish of me to say so, but… it’s good to be reminded that even a demon in human’s skin like me is capable of creating life.”

Shirley thought about it, and she smiled too. She found Gulcasa’s hand, turned it palm-up, and interlaced their fingers.

“I can understand how you feel.” And then she had to bite her lip to keep from grinning nervously. “Now all we have to do is survive telling Walter and Fenimore.”

Gulcasa laughed. “Geh, don’t remind me.”

She giggled a little, and when he squeezed her hand tightly, she squeezed his back.


	10. The Psalms Between My Palms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _(beyond the horizon;_ a place to lay my anchor down)

Shirley woke to the feeling of being rocked.

She lay on her side with Gulcasa’s arm over her waist and the solid wall of heat that was his chest pressed to her back. The sound of his breathing was quiet and even; he was still sleeping. It was light in the room; it was morning.

If she decided to just lounge around here, she’d probably fall asleep again, and it would be better for her if she got up and walked around on the deck of the ship for a while; that would both keep her awake and stabilize her internal rhythm to the waves so that she wouldn’t get sick. The morning sickness in itself was becoming less and less of a problem, but better to be safe than sorry.

Carefully, Shirley slipped out from under Gulcasa’s arm. He didn’t seem to register it. Making sure not to disturb him too much, she pulled the sheets back up, and found a dress to pull on, discovered her slippers on the far side of the dresser (how in the world had they gotten _there?..._ ), and put on her clothes nonchalantly. She smiled a little at the idle thought that the Shirley Fennes of last year certainly wouldn’t have been able to dress with a sleeping man in the room, let alone share the bed with that man wearing only her underclothes. It was amazing, how quickly the once-unthinkable could become a part of everyday life.

She made her way to the door, then turned to look over her shoulder at Gulcasa. He was still lying sprawled on his side with his hair in a great red thunderhead that spilled across the pillow and just over the edge of the mattress, deeply asleep. She smiled at him, then left the room, closing the door behind her.

It was early. The sky was filled with knitted gray clouds overhead, through which glimpses of steelish blue could be glimpsed; beneath their thick layering, the air was faintly golden with the dawn. It felt auspicious, with the air clear and crisp and everything smelling of sea.

Shirley watched that sky for a while. It felt like it was promising that grand things would be happening today, permeating the atmosphere with a sense of childish adventure.

Eventually, she made her way up to the prow and stared out over the horizon, long and hard. Whether her imagination was just overly active or not, the one thing she could be sure of was that there was going to be a lot of adventure up ahead. Unifying two distant peoples, having a child and raising it, meeting her husband’s family and introducing him to the people she had grown up around… those things were all big steps forward, and it was impossible to predict how things would go.

There were footsteps behind her. Shirley turned around, and then smiled.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“I was. I woke up.” Gulcasa stretched, then covered a yawn. “Figured you’d be out here.”

He didn’t look particularly awake yet. His hair was still mussed, as were the clothes he’d tossed on; his pants were hanging lopsided and bared a few inches of his left hip, and he was barefoot. Shirley considered letting him know about the pants, but decided against it. They were the only ones out here, and it was a nice view.

Gulcasa kept walking until he was standing right behind her, then put his arms around her and leaned against her, making her giggle. “Are we there yet?”

Giggling again, Shirley reached back and tugged on a tuft of his hair to get his attention, then pointed. “See that on the horizon? The thing that looks like a little bit of dark mist hugging the water—that’s land. We should be there before too much longer.”

“Huh.”

And then they were silent for a while.

Gulcasa held her a little closer, then shifted his weight to stand upright. Shirley heard the pad of his feet on the deck, and then he was beside her, looking down at her.

“They’re gonna love you, don’t worry about that.”

Shirley smiled. “I sure hope so.”

She reached to take his hand, and he interlaced his fingers with hers. The feeling gave her smile strength, and she closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of the morning and the sea breeze against her face.

…They would be all right. They were going to be taking the next big step together, so she knew that no matter what happened, they would be all right.


End file.
